


'Tis But Our Fantasy

by Philosophizes



Series: Bad Decisions [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (There's actually more than one), Aliens, Artificial Intelligence, Bigender Character, F/F, F/M, Gen, Human Original Characters, Magic, Magic Revealed, Multi, Nation Original Characters, Other, Science Fantasy, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Trans Character, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 350,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophizes/pseuds/Philosophizes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...that on an Earth with powerful magic on one side and freedom to settle the stars on the other, that peace- of mind, from war, that lasts forever- can finally be found.</p><p>Family, knowledge, love, and power- maybe, if the right choices are made.</p><p>But never peace.</p><p> </p><p>(Each chapter focuses on a character or set of characters, some of them from the preceding story, With Sorrow, and some of them new; though many of them reappear throughout.</p><p>You must read the preceding story to understand what happens within.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nico and Diana

Vasco Agresta was born to Nico and Diana Agresta on the first of February 2053 in Naples, Italy.

On the fifth of February, Nico, Diana, and Vasco were getting off the train in Martigny, Switzerland. They’d flown into Lausanne from Naples and taken the hour-long train ride down from there.

They stood in the train station for fifteen minutes, Nico trying to get them a taxi to the mountain and Forêt Fama- but there were no taxis that would go there. He was sternly told by the woman behind the information desk that the City of Martigny had strictly forbidden anyone from going up to the Wild Hunt’s territory unless specifically invited.

“But the new treaty says that people _have_ to be allowed to come and go freely,” Nico ended up telling the woman irately.

“Daredevils and pleasure-seekers should not be encouraged, that’s what the mayor said,” she replied sharply in French-accented Italian.

“We’re _not_ daredevils _or_ pleasure-seekers,” Nico muttered as he turned away from the desk.

Diana handed Vasco off to him and did some searching on her phone, finding a hotel that was perhaps half of the way to Forêt Fama. There was a once-an-hour bus line, the R, that had a stop within walking distance. She went to arrange the bus fare for them and then they went and stood in the waiting shelter for fifteen minutes until the bus returned.

It was a ten-minute ride to the Martigny-Croix station, and then they started walking for the hotel. The plan was to call a taxi from there and ask to be taken to the Martigny Guest Information center, significantly closer to Forêt Fama, and walk _again_ from there, but-

“Nico, wait,” Diana called. He stopped and realized that she’d ducked into another bus waiting shelter, some feet behind him. “Look, this one’s on a line that will take us almost to Combarigny.”

Combarigny was the road that Switzerland’s house was off of. Apparently, it was supposed to be a straightforward walk from Switzerland’s house to the clearing where Forêt Fama and the Jägerskov now overlapped; but it would be just as easy to try calling Nia from that known landmark and have her come down the mountain to them.

So Nico and Diana and Vasco waited in the bus shelter for the 214 line to come around again. It was seven minutes on that bus, and then they were on La Fontaine, near the switchback where Combarigny met the curve of the other road.

Ten minutes’ walk, and they were at Switzerland’s Martigny house.    

The door was locked when Nico tried it, but Diana thankfully sat down on the front stoop and Nico dropped the luggage on the shoveled walkway- so _someone_ was here often enough to have done _that_ \- and collapsed next to her, just to rest for a few minutes.

He was about to get out his phone to call Nia and hope that she was somewhere where cell towers could reach when the door opened.

“Get in here, Nico, Diana,” Nia ordered.

“Surprised to see us?” Nico asked, gathering the luggage again.

“No,” she said. “ _Zio_ Vino called just after you left and told me you were coming up from Naples this morning. I took the afternoon off.”

“You can do that?” Diana asked, sounding doubtful. “Take an afternoon off… off being royalty?”

Nia looked very cross at that.

“I’m not _royalty,_ ” she said. “It’s just the job title. And yes, I _am_ the one in charge, if I want to take an afternoon off- especially now that the treaty’s been signed- I can and damn well _will_ take an afternoon off.”

Nico, more familiar with Nation’s _‘days off’_ , privately thought that it was more likely that Nia had the afternoon off so long as nothing really needed her attention.

“So Switzerland’s letting you stay here, then?” he asked instead.

“He’s going to be dead in seven months,” Nia told him. “He _gave_ it to me. Well, the Hunt, but me. Ly and Zorya and some of the others are living here too, upstairs, until we can reconstruct the Jagdshall. The kitchen is down that way, Diana, if you need to refrigerate any of that baby stuff. And there’s a bathroom three or four doors over from there if you need to change him.”

“You sound very… sure,” Nico said as Diana left to take care of Vasco. “That he’ll be dead.”

“It’ll be a treaty that forms the VRG,” Nia replied. “A contract. I’m Jagdsprinz. I _know_.”

He had to stop, with that, right there in the middle of the hallway, and really _look_ at Nia. She was dressed like she was just anyone taking an afternoon off- jeans, sweatshirt, hair pulled up loosely- but, there was something, he couldn’t really…

“You feel different,” Nico said. “Not Nation-different. But _like_ Nation-different.”

“They’re considered Kings in Honalee,” she said. “And now _I’m_ one. I’m not surprised. You can leave the luggage in here for now.”

This was a sitting room- two couches on either side of a coffee table the focus of the room and some chairs scattered about the walls, between the shelves and paintings.

Nia shut the door behind them. Nico glanced over at her at the sound, and she raised her eyebrows at him, jerking her head towards the couches in a silent command for him to sit down. He left the luggage by the door and did so.

Nia took a spot on the couch opposite him.

“What are you doing here, Nico?” she asked. “Diana only gave birth five days ago. Your baby should be back in Naples, with the doctors nearby, just in case something happens-”

“That’s why we _had_ to leave, Nia,” he interrupted. “Just in case something happened. It was _Naples_ and Diana’s father is dead and the Bottegante family is busted but that just means there’s space for the rest of the Camorra to move in on their territory. Everyone _knows_ that they were feuding with _Padre._ It was in the newspapers that Alfeo Bottegante and the others died attacking _us_. People _know_ Diana in Naples. I don’t trust that there aren’t people at that hospital who are on the payroll of one of the other Camorra families. _Someone_ somewhere knows that Diana just gave birth to a child and that it was in Naples. If we stayed, we would have been a target.”

“You know that for sure?”

“No,” Nico said. “But we thought we’d be safe coming back for a few days, _in secret,_ not even _to_ Naples, and _look what happened!_ And we got Ditta and Nike stuck in the crossfire, and now we know that Hanna Schumacher was _selling_ our information and we have no _idea_ what Alfeo told anyone, who _else_ knows, and I _can’t_ rely on _Padre_ and _Papá_ or _Zia_ Vespasiana to be around to save me or anyone else. _Vasco_ died and then _I_ nearly lost us myself and Ditta and Nike and Diana- the world’s _dangerous,_ Nia-”

“You think I don’t know that?” she demanded. “You think _I_ don’t know what you can stand to lose?”

“No, no,” Nico said, rubbing his face with one hand. “No; of course you know. I just- Nia-”

He sighed.

“Why did you come here, Nico?” Nia asked. “You could have gone back to Madrid. You could have gone anywhere else in Italy or Spain. Why here?”

“It’s safe here,” Nico told her. “The Wild Hunt- it’s safe. You killed a _demon._ The Camorra won’t _dare_ touch us here. They won’t even think to look.”

“So you came to stay with the Hunt?”

“We came to _join_ the Hunt,” Nico corrected.

The room was silent for a few moments.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Nicodemo Agresta,” she told him; and Nico was having a hard time thinking of her as _‘Nia’_ when she looked at him so gravely and used that tone of voice. That was the Jagdsprinz talking, Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor, not his cousin. “You have _absolutely_ no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I killed people,” Nico said. “I reacted unconsciously to a threat and I killed people, with _magic._ If I’m ever scared like that again, I _don’t_ want that to happen. I don’t want to kill people without thinking about it. I _need_ to learn about magic, and how it works, and using it, and controlling it- and Honalee will teach me that. And Vasco has some magic, I tested, and he doesn’t react to it like humans do. The Hunt will keep us safe while I learn, and while Vasco grows up and learns, and I’ll be able to- to work everything out.”

“The Wild Hunt isn’t _therapy_ ,” she told him sharply. “You become a Jäger, you’re _mine._ You follow my orders. You fight if you’re told to and you kill if the situation calls for it. And joining- that comes with almost immortality. You’ve already got something like that, what happened with the Camorra. You won’t die unless you’re killed, and it took a carefully-planned ambush by a _demon_ to kill the last set of Jäger, and the Erlkönig. It’ll take even _more_ than that _,_ likely, to kill you or me. If you join, you’ll outlive your siblings. You’ll always be more of Honalee than human. You might even outlive your parents. And your son, if he doesn’t join- you’ll outlive him, too. And Diana-”

“I said _we,_ Jagdsprinz,” Nico reminded her. “Diana wants to join, as well.”

Nia took a deep breath through her nose and looked at him, sharply- not quite angry, but something close to it.

“Did you tell your parents that’s why you were coming?” she asked.

“No,” Nico said. “Just that we were coming. I think they think that I’m going to ask about magic. And that’s not wrong.”

“And you’re really sure you want to do this?”

“I don’t have other options.”

“Oh yes you _do,_ ” Nia told him. “Even _I_ had the option not to become Jagdsprinz.”

“But you did anyway,” he pointed out. “Because you couldn’t get Germany back, right? So what was left was to destroy what took him. Diana and I can’t be safer anywhere but here. And the best way to stay here is to join the Wild Hunt.”

For a second, he thought Nia might start screaming at him for bringing up her father, might kick them out, but-

“I won’t take you without Diana,” she said. “So _you_ have to tell Diana about what joining means, before-”

“Oh, I heard,” Diana said from the doorway. “All of it. It’s still better than the Camorra.”

“Even the immortality?”

“I’ve died once, already, Nia, just as you said,” Nico told her. “I’d rather not again.”

“And I’ve seen my father’s people kill others before,” Diana said. “If joining even gives me _extra_ assurance against that- I’ll take it.”

Nia closed her eyes and sighed, heavily.

“Jagdsprinz?” someone called from the stairs. It was in Italian, which neither Nico or Diana had been expecting.

“In here,” Nia replied, also in Italian. Evidentially, it was the current operating language of the Hunt.

A man with black-brown hair, lighter near the roots than the ends, appeared behind Diana in the doorway- or at least his hair did, since the top of his head was all that was visible over her shoulder.

Diana stepped aside to let him through, revealing the rest of him. He was wearing mostly wool in dark earth tones- his shirt was like that, knitted in decorative patterns and laced in the front and on the cuffs with embroidered ribbon, the collar a fluff of varicolored fur. His pants were wool, too, felted, tucked into leather-and-fur boots. He had a leather belt, dyed and clearly decorative rather than functional.

He looked like he should be overheating, wearing all that inside, but he just seemed comfortably warm.

“Adalram,” Nia said. “This is Nico Agresta, he’s _Napoli_ and _Espana_ ’s son; and that’s his wife Diana and their son Vasco. Nico and Diana have come to join the Hunt.”

Adalram made a gesture, a little like he was tipping an invisible hat and a little like he was saluting.

“Prince Nico; Lady Diana,” he greeted them; then turned to yell something up the stairs in a language they didn’t recognize.

 _“Wait,”_ said Nico.

“Your parents count as royalty in Honalee,” Nia reminded him, leaving her serious tone behind for a moment to switch to smugly teasing. “That makes you a prince and your wife royalty by extension. Congratulations.”

_“No.”_

“Lucky for you, Hunt titles come first,” she said, and there was a great noise on the stairs as more people followed Adalram down to the sitting room. “Ly! You remember I told you about my cousin Nico? He’s going to join to join the Hunt; what’s his full style of address?”

One of the new arrivals, a tall man with dark hair and blue-green eyes regarded him for a moment, his slight frown clearly visible through the interesting way he’d shaved his beard.

“May I know your name?” he asked Nico after a moment.

Nico was confused for a second- it was a very formal way to ask for something very simple- but then remembered details about folk stories and fairy tales. He glanced over at Nia.

“No one here is going to use it against you,” she promised. “They have me to answer to.”

“Nicodemo Terenzio Agresta Fernandez,” he said.

“Then you will be _‘The Jager Nicodemo Terenzio Agresta Fernandez, Prince Naples and Spain’_ ,”Ly Erg told him. “With any other titles and styles bestowed and added as is seen fit by the Jagdsprinz; as I gained until my full and proper address is _‘The Jager Ly Erg ap Gwyn, Venerer of the Wild Hunt, Master of Hound and Horse, His Royal Highness the Prince of the Tylwyth Teg’_.”

“You gave him all that?” Nico asked Nia.

“His father,” she corrected him. “The one before me. You’re _certain_ you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Diana said for both of them.

Nia gestured to the newcomers.

“This is the majority of the Hunt. There are only ten Jäger, including me. Zvezda Kascheiyivna and Boreas haven’t decided yet if they’re coming back or continuing their service under Kaschei Perun. Everyone else came for the demon and then left. I’ve yet to hear from _anyone_ that they’re interested in joining the Hunt- because it turns _out_ that _some_ people-”

Nia gave Ly Erg and one of the women a deeply unamused look.

“-aren’t _convinced_ of the wisdomof making _me_ Jagdsprinz.”

“You are what we had, my Prince,” the woman said. “There would have been no better opportunity.”

Nia was still clearly unhappy about this, but chose not to reply.

“You’re _certain_ you want to do this?”

 _“Yes,”_ Nico told her.

“Jagdsprinz, please,” Diana said. “Please.”

“I need Jäger,” she said heavily, after a moment. “I need Jäger badly. Badly enough that I can’t turn you away, no matter how big of a mistake I think it will be. I’m certain you’ll regret it later. If you join, you will only leave the Hunt through death, or if I discharge you. Discharge comes only from gaining a higher duty- and there are few higher than being a Jager; though one day I will discharge Ly Erg from the Hunt to be King of the Tylwyth Teg- or if you commit so egregious a violation of your duty that I throw you out myself- and anything serious enough for that would have you dead at my hands or disgraced so thoroughly that would be like you had no life at all. All this; and you will _still_ be Jäger?”

“You won’t scare us away,” Diana told her. _“We want to join the Hunt.”_

“Fine,” Nia said. “Adalram.”

When he turned to go, for the first time, Nico and Diana could see that he had a tail.

* * *

It was less impressive than Nico had expected it to be. Nia had been very insistent about the seriousness of joining the Wild Hunt, so for an initiation to be, well- it wasn’t very impressive.

Adalram returned to the sitting room with a wooden bowl full of apples, every one a deep, warm yellow.

Nia had picked up two, handed them one each, and told them to eat the whole thing.

At least it wasn’t as bad as if they’d just had to stand there and do it while everyone watched. After they’d started, the others had dispersed, and Nia took them into the kitchen, where she and a woman with sunset-red hair and pale green eyes that glowed faintly, balefully, started to put together dinner. Really, it was the sunset woman who was making dinner- Nia and Nico just assisted as asked, Nico working around finishing off his apple. Adalram put the wooden bowl back in the freezer and then wandered out the back door.

The apple _was_ a little strange, Nico allowed as he finished it. It didn’t have any core or any seeds, just crisp innards with just the right amount of softness and sweetness the whole way through. The only part left over was the stem, a centimeter or two long, and Nia told him that he didn’t have to eat that.

Dinner was ready by the time that Adalram got back, followed by a man in a poncho, a gray woman in a thick fur coat, and someone without any easily-categorizable gender presentation, who looked like they should have frozen to death outside, clad as they were in what looked like strips of tulle, white and various shades of gray, all knotted together and left flowing.

A pack of dogs, off-white with dark red-brown ears, tumbled in after them, crowding up the kitchen something terrible. Nia ordered them off, and the man in the poncho and the woman in the coat- who was all hard lines and stark muscle when she took it off and hung it up by the door- herded them out the door and further into the house, the other Jager with them slipping out with the dogs, presumably to tell the others about dinner. Adalram helped set the table up, and soon they were joined by the others at the table in the formal dining room next door, which seemed far too fancy for them to just be using it casually, what with the glass-fronted carved wood china and crystal cabinets against the wall and the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the waxed wood table.

“So, for those of you who weren’t here earlier,” Nia began dinner with, addressing the others as they sat. “This is my cousin Nico and his wife Diana. They’ve joined the Hunt. Nico, Diana- your new comrades. You’ve met Adalram and Ly Erg ap Gwyn already. That’s his wife, Odile von Rothbart-”

The woman next to him was wearing a long white dress, festooned with lace, which would have looked wildly out-of-place in any other room. It belonged in the bedroom of some period drama, or on a young lady about to get assaulted by a vampire in a classic horror movie.

“Then next to her is Zorya Kascheiyivna-”

She pointed to the woman who she’d been upset with earlier, in the sitting room.

“-the younger Princess of Buyan. And Merric-”

The one in the tulle-like cloth.

“-one of my subjects-”

There was a very slight pause before the last word, and a touch of not-quite emphasis that Diana correctly interpreted as meaning that she wasn’t used to thinking of other people as _‘subjects’_.

“You have _subjects?_ ” her husband asked incredulously.

“As King of the Jägerskov, yes, I do,” Nia informed him. “I have- _dominion_ over the Huldrene, like Adalram, and the fog spirits-”

She tilted her head towards Merric.

“And the Oreads.”

The gesture she made with her hand was to the other side of the table, where the gray woman with the hard lines to her sat.

“I am Siegrike,” she said, and her voice was low and slightly rumbling. “And this is _my_ mountain.”

“And we made dinner with Dariya, Nico,” Nia continued. “She’s from Póli Thálassas, because apparently Amphitrite Kataiis thinks I need a bodyguard.”

“You’re Venice’s child,” Dariya said stiffly. “She would be remiss in her duty as wife and queen if she did _not_ look out for you and yours.”

“Dariya is a rusalka, so I figure I’m in good hands there,” Nia said, more to the woman in question than to anyone else. “Arion is also from Póli Thálassas, but buildings aren’t designed for him to be comfortable moving around in.”

“He’s a horse,” she added before Nico or Diana could ask the question. “Lord Hiruz is outside with the dogs, he can’t come inside either, I’ll introduce you later. And then we have Cauac, from Quiviria in Chicomoztoc.”

“We need to buy more food tomorrow,” was his contribution to the conversation.

“Yeah, I’ll go out before breakfast,” Nia said. “I think I can still manage getting another day’s worth back in one trip.”

“You go shopping by yourself?” Diana asked. “ _That_ early in the morning? Are the shops even _open?_ ”

“It’s better than going out _after_ breakfast when everyone else is around,” Nia said defensively. “And _yes,_ I go shopping by myself, I’m the only one who knows any French or how to _function_ in this society and it makes the staring _worse_ if I take anyone else because everyone _knows_ that I bring the food back up here. And it’s all _my_ money, anyway.”

“You’re financing the entire Hunt _yourself?_ You can’t _possibly_ have the sort of money you need for that.”

“I have enough to keep us in food!” Nia insisted. “And the other Kings gave me gifts; and once I figure out if I can sell them without offending anyone and how much they’re worth we’ll have some more!”

“And in the meantime you’re trying to buy groceries for _seven people_ on a day-to-day basis and going to fetch them _yourself._ ”

“Well, if _you_ can do it better-”

“ ** _Je_** _parle français, **j** ’irai._”

“Great,” Nia said. “Then you’ve got the job. Make sure we’re kept in food.”

* * *

There weren’t any more guest bedrooms free in the Martigny house, so Nico and Diana were given the sitting room. They had to put Vasco to bed on some folded blankets on the floor.

The Hunt apparently kept early hours. There was movement on the floor above them starting around 6:30, the beginning of astronomical twilight, when the black of night became the slightly-more-blue that was the first warning of sunrise.

Sunrise was about 8:15, and at the point, everyone was awake and eating breakfast. Nico wasn’t particularly _happy_ about it, but he was there with the others all the same. Diana took Odile off with her once they’d both finished to sort out the food situation, and Adalram, Merric, and Siegrike left as a group together while everyone else was cleaning up.

“They’re off to look over the affairs of the Jägerskov,” Cauac told Nico when he saw him watching as they exited through the back kitchen door. His clothes were bright primary colors, headband to boots, and he favored silver jewelry in the form of disk earrings and bracelets. “It’s been neglected long enough that there’s need for censuses and assessment reports and lists.”

After the breakfast clean-up was finished, Nia led the Jäger that were still around outside into the snow. Nico didn’t have a coat warm enough to handle the cold, or boots, and really wasn’t looking forward to a walk, but walk they did, up the mountain to the House.

Nico hadn’t ever been here before. He’d been in Naples with Diana’s friends for the Christmas that had killed his brother, and during the Christmas that Switzerland had hosted years before he’d been eight, and everyone had stayed in Switzerland’s- Sebastian’s, then- house except for coming back and forth from hotels.

He’d heard a little bit from Cato and Zheng and Giuditta and Gianna about his brother Vasco’s death, and the House, but this building really didn’t live up to his expectations. It was large, yes, but not looming- just a little run down. The front door was lying in the snow, off its hinges; and there was no glass anywhere in the windows, which meant one of the wings, which looked like it had been a ballroom, had small drifts of snow inside. The water fixtures were iced over and the gardens scruffy, but the gate was open and the walkway up to the door was clear.

There was also a very large deer standing by the wall, perfectly still and watching them as they came.

“Nico,” Nia said. “This is Lord Hiruz, Knight-Protector of the Jägerskov. He was a Knight of the Hunt under Jagdsprinz Erlkönig, and was the one who guarded the forest while the demon lived here. Hiruz, this is Nicodemo Agresta, _Napoli_ and _Espana_ ’s son. He and his wife joined the Hunt yesterday, and brought their baby son with them.”

“It is good to meet you, Nicodemo Agresta,” Hiruz told him gravely, bobbing his head a little. The movement looked much bigger than it was because of his antlers. “Your membership is welcome; and I look forward to meeting your wife and son.”

“Later tonight,” she promised him. “Have you heard from Zvezda and Boreas yet?”

“Nothing, my Prince. Shall I still go down to Nysa today?”

Nia sighed.

“Yes, please, and take Zorya and Ly with you. I need to know what needs doing, and if Pwffio is really planning on staying.”

“I am not inclined to doubt his word, my Prince,” Hiruz said. “If he says he does not mean to return to his cave on the shores of Miacel’s Pass, then he will not.”

“Still, make sure? And find out what he plans on doing for food.”

“Nysa?” Nico asked as Hiruz turned to leave with Zorya and Ly Erg.

“The trade town of Honalee,” Cauac told him. “Closed since the demon came. Every coin passed through the markets there, eventually.”

“That’s for tomorrow,” Nia said, and thought of something else and yelled after Hiruz: “And ask Arion to get horses for Nico and Diana.”

“I get a horse?”

Nia gave a look.

“You’re _Jäger,_ ” she said, like he should have known these things already. “And you didn’t come with your own. Of _course_ I’m getting you a horse.”

“If you’re short on money,” Nico asked, walking with her and Cauac and Dariya past the gates to the House, following the wall around. “How are you going to afford getting me and Diana horses and feeding them?”

“Horses are Kore Despoina’s contribution to the Hunt,” she told him. “I don’t have to pay anything for them.”

“Where are you _keeping_ them?”

“In the Jägerskov,” Nia said as they reached the back of the House. “Hiruz knows a place, and Arion stays with them.”

The wall here, surrounding the House, had just disappeared. The entire back of the House, all four stories of it and the large, spreading stone patio behind it, were open to the forest and the half-ruins of a large longhouse.

“Look,” she ordered, pointing into the woods.

What she was talking about wasn’t hard to miss, once you took a second to look. The forest-

Nico couldn’t quite find the words to fit.

Forêt Fama and the Jägerskov occupied this same portion of space. They were not meant to do that, but space had given way to the outrageous amount of magic that had gone into making it so, and accommodated.

Looking off to the sides of the clearing, things were mostly normal. But looking straight on into the forest behind the House and the Hall- Nico could see the Jägerskov. He could see it clearly, without any obstruction; but Forêt Fama was _also_ there, just as clear. He turned around and walked back to the corner of the wall to look back where they’d come from, and it was the same, even though he hadn’t seen it like this coming up.  

“It gets better,” Cauac said, smiling at the look on his face, and walked forward some meters, until he was standing next to two large stones, glowing the same green as Dariya’s eyes at the top, framing a path into the woods.

He turned on his heel, walked right back the way he’d come, and disappeared. Nia made a little spinning motion with one of her fingers, so Nico turned around again to look at the way they’d come, and saw Cauac walking back up the side of the clearing toward them. He winked at Nico as he passed by and kept walking until he was retracing his first steps- except now, he wasn’t in the Jägerskov, even though Nico could still see the road and the stones and Cauac was in the right _place_ to be standing where he’d stopped before, but he _wasn’t_ because he was in Forêt Fama _instead-_

“Agh,” Nico said quietly, and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“You have to focus on which one you want to be in,” he heard Cauac say as he rejoined the group. “Or you end up in the wrong place and have to turn around again. It’s pretty fun, actually.”

“It doesn’t _look_ fun,” Nico muttered.

“You’ll get used to it,” Dariya promised, spinning him around so he was facing the House. Nico felt safe enough looking that direction to open his eyes again. ‘Patio’ didn’t quite encompass what the stone-paved back area was- it was more like a great area cleared of grass that had had stone flags sunk into the dirt so they were level to the ground, and then two smaller stone platforms had been constructed and stacked on top of each other, functioning like a set of very wide, very shallow stairs.

Nia, Dariya, and Cauac started to walk up them.

“There’s no more demon, Nico,” Nia called back after a moment. “It won’t hurt you.”

Nico hurried a little to catch up, joining them again on the top ‘stair’, by a set of paper-and-wood doors that he was _certain_ belonged only in traditional Japanese architecture.

_“Why-”_

“Best to get used to this, too,” Cauac advised. “It wasn’t built with any sense of design or practicality.”

“A _demon_ built it,” Nia said. “Why I expected it to have any sort of rationality, I don’t know.”

The emerged into a room bare of anything but Japanese floor mats and more of the wood-and-paper panels. There were two breaks in the far wall, where there should have been doors, but it seemed like someone had forgotten to install them. From there it was two steps down into the main hallway, which Nico figured must have been at true ground level.

“So why are we in here?” he asked.

Nia opened the bag she’d brought with her and took out a book of grid paper, a regular lined notebook, a pen, a pencil, an eraser, and a standard-size construction measuring tape, one of the metal sorts that rolled up into its container.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with this building,” she said, handing the measuring tape to Dariya and lined notebook and pen to Cauac. “But I don’t really like it and I’m not sure I want to leave it standing. In the meantime- we need money. There might be things we can sell, so we’re mapping the interior and doing an inventory.”

Nico glared around suspiciously at their surroundings.

“Are you _certain_ that’s a good idea?”

“The demon is gone,” Nia said firmly, and there was an edge of the power behind it from the day before, when she had tried to turn him away from joining. “There will be no possessed artifacts or haunted remains here. Mephistopheles is dead at the blades and teeth of my Hunt and has left nothing of itself behind.”

This was something he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to, that edge.

“So,” he said, to move the conversation away from where it had gone. “What are we doing with it today, then?”

They passed the rest of the morning unlocking rooms and taken inventory. There was a strange rhythm to it, the way that there would be a stretch of rooms, all the nearly identical, wrong in their cookie-cutter surface-cover _sameness_ \- shelves of books with solid-color covers and blank pages, furniture devoid of even the simplest decoration, everything too industrial and unused- but then there were the odd rooms, the ones that were strongly in an identifiable style, or just so _strange_ that they couldn’t be forgotten. There was an exercise room with mirrors and ballet bars and tumbling mats, an armory, a swimming pool in the east wing opposite the ballroom- the list went on.

Lunch was had in an opera theater big enough to sit fifty but with no backstage area. The decoration was lavish, gilded rococo and baroque with heavy curtains and plush velvet.

After lunch was a bit of exploring.

Nico learned more about the House than just that the rooms were strange. There were entire portions of the House where either there were hidden rooms with doors they hadn’t found, doors that weren’t there, or the demon had just used up space and stuck a chuck of wall the size of a room in.

And there were cells. Everywhere. Small ones, big ones, ones with dried stains and ones with rust and ones with dust and ones that were clearly too clean to have ever been touched. All of them were hidden, and with every one, Nico felt his gut go a little more uneasy.

He was glad by the time they reached a space the others apparently knew well, because Nia walked right up to a window and swung herself over and out, feet hitting the roof tiles with practiced ease. The others followed her walk down the roof to the strange flat projection in the front, covering the entrance hallway to the foyer. Nia sat down right behind the false-peaked front, where a cross was mounted over the door.

“A demon’s house,” Nico said. “Yet this is here?”

“It’s not like the rest of it makes a whole lot of sense,” Nia said. “And if nothing else, _this_ is what I’m keeping of the House.”

“Out of everything, why this?” he asked. “Symbolic value?”

Nia shook her head.

“Did you hear about the dead people in the walls?”

He hadn’t.

“When I was stuck here,” she told him. “I was with János for most of it. We were stuck in the ballroom, which doesn’t have any direct doors out, but there was a picture gallery at the far end of it. We figured that it was enough like some sort of horror movie already that we had nothing to lose looking for hidden passages, and the most logical place for one was behind the pictures, so- we ended up finding big rooms, probably sacrificial rooms, behind them, with the corpse of the person in the picture behind it. The stairs to the balcony and then out were on the other side of those rooms.”

Nia tapped the back of the cross.

“This isn’t just someplace a demon infested, or a torture game in the form of a slaughterhouse- it’s a tomb, of sorts. Those people need a proper burial, and they’re going to get one as soon as I find a good place to put a cemetery. I’m going the cross up over the entrance as part of the memorial. It stood over their bodies here, and I see no reason to change that.”   

* * *

Before her cousin-in-law had given her the apple to eat, Diana had been shoving down her unease about the other people in the Martigny house with them. They had a feeling of danger, of difference, something she couldn’t understand or defend herself against, and it raked across her nerves as a low-level terror, heart going just a little too fast and awareness raised.

After the apple, at dinner, that feeling had entirely gone away, replaced with something different- where there had been terror, now there was a sort of comradery with the others, a faint feeling of kinship.

Everyone but Odile von Rothbart.

Over breakfast the next day, Diana made a guess based on the lace-saturated dress she was wearing, the exact same one as the day before, and quietly asked her, over the food, if she would mind helping out with what Diana had to do that day.

Odile readily agreed, and took Diana to the room where Nia had been storing the gifts the other Kings had given her upon their official meetings.

“You’re not part of the Hunt,” Diana said once they’d reached the room. “You’re just here because your husband is.”

Odile nodded, giving her a little smile.

“I was apart from him most of the time he was in his father’s Hunt, and almost all of the time while the demon lived in the Jägerskov,” she told Diana. “We won’t be separated again.”

Diana looked around the room. She’d been hoping she could have a general idea of its market value- growing up at the top of organized crime had advantages, ones that she couldn’t get rid of no matter how many ties she cut, like the experience of being in and around high society- but the things here were clearly _gifts,_ likely specially made _._ There was a set of carved wood furniture, a desk and chair and bookcase, complete with accessories and books; three large chests that, when opened, proved full of a variety of clothes, mostly in silk; a wide flat box containing a set of beautifully-made gold jewelry set with rubies and garnets and small, highly-polished shards of obsidian; a giant solid-gold wall plaque, tall enough to reach almost to Diana’s breastbone, of a stylized sun-in-glory with rings of scenes and symbols around it that were probably significant somehow-

“That’s from the King of Cíbola,” Odile informed her. “The Five Cities of Chicomoztoc each sent a separate gift, besides the one from all of them that the High King gave. It’s a protective device, like a very large magical shield. It will protect against things and people who wish to harm anything in the building where it’s placed.”

Diana shook her head, looking away from the giant sun to quickly glance at the other gifts.

“It would be very offensive if we sold any of these, wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, she’s Jagdsprinz,” Odile said. “She might get away with it.”

Diana sighed. It was better not to test that, not when this was a very Jadgsprinz with a very new Hunt. It was better to be careful with politics than forceful for the time being. In the meantime, they’d just have to manage with whatever money they could pull together.

“I need to go get Vasco. I’ll meet you at the front door in a few minutes.”

When she returned, Vasco in a carrying sling across her chest, she found Odile standing by the door in fine leather slippers that could only be called ‘dainty’ and no coat, only a sort of half-length black cloak that didn’t look like it was very well-made for its purpose. The thick wool also didn’t go well with the lace and cotton-silk of her dress.

“I don’t have anything warmer,” Odile admitted.

“Then we’ll fix that today, too,” Diana promised, adding it to her mental list of things to do. “You haven’t got any money, have you.”

“I _do_ have money,” she said, reaching into a pocket in her dress and pulling out a handful of small brass coins and a few larger ones, partially-tarnished silver. “It’s just apparently no one here will take them.”

“What could you buy with that much?” Diana asked as they went out the door, hoping to be able to advise her about what best to do in regards to the monetary situation. “And- wait, let me guess. There’s no car, either.”

“King Schweiz has a car,” Odile told her. “He drove it up here once. But there wasn’t one that came with the house. And with this much-”

She shrugged, and placed the coins back in her pocket.

“It depends on where I was buying. If I went to the Finias market- plenty. If I was in Kitezh, a lot less.”

“Things are more expensive in Kitezh?”

“Their coins weigh more,” Odile said sadly. “And people don’t trust the money of the Tylwyth Teg very much.”

 _“Wait,”_ Diana said, surprised, as they walked down Combarigny towards the bus stop. “You still go by coin weight in Honalee? How much silver is _in_ those coins?”

“They’re… solid silver,” Odile told her, sounding confused. “Why wouldn’t they be solid silver? Anything else makes things complicated.”

“Because that’s- that much pure precious metal _has_ to be prohibitively expensive _-_ ”

“Only in the Silent Hills,” she said, sighing glumly. “Gold, silver, everything but copper and the tin we need to make bronze. Everyone else can afford so much more than us.”

“If you had gold pieces that big and pure, you could sell them and probably end up with a decent amount of money,” Diana informed her, having pulled out her phone to check metal prices. “But silver is worth basically nothing unless you have a lot of it. So why isn’t the money of the Tylwyth Teg worth much?”

“The Jagdsprinz watches over trade to make sure it’s fair,” Odile informed her. “Without the Jagdsprinz, nobody could ever be _certain_ that they weren’t being cheated on their currency or the value of their goods. And the magic of the Tylwyth Teg is in illusions and glamours and seemings, so…”

“Oh,” Diana said, understanding. “Fairy gold.”      

Odile smiled.

“It’s nice to know that some things on Earth haven’t changed,” she said. “Even if people must trust each other a lot more now than they did when _I_ lived here, to use so much credit and not back anything on gold or silver.”

“You’re _human,_ ” Diana said, stopping suddenly on the road as vague suspicions she’d had suddenly made sense. “How-”

“I was stolen,” Odile told her. “Me and my sister. One of us was going to be someone’s wife, the other their mistress. The Tylwyth Teg do that, sometimes. Not a _lot_ , but enough that’s it’s not _rare_. They started doing it after Gwyn ap Llud became Jagdsprinz. The nobles- sometimes they don’t respect Queen Nicnevin much. But they’re not _supposed_ to steal people, so when word got to the Jagdsprinz, he came with some Jäger and executed the one who’d stolen us and then they escorted us home, except when I got back everyone was dead and things had changed. So I asked to go back, and Rhudd wanted to as well, and the Jagdsprinz had Ly get me better-acquainted with how things worked in the Silent Hills. My sister decided to leave and live near Morningtown, and I got the possessions of the one who’d stolen me, and I started taking in other freed humans, and Ly and I fell in love, and then-”

They were almost to the bus stop now.

“Then what?”

“The Erlkönig was killed. Queen Nicnevin was grieving, and angry, and she couldn’t do anything about the demon so she got mad at Ly instead, and turned me into a swan, and shoved Ly into menial positions. Then King England came after his granddaughter who’d been taken, and changed me back, and Ly and I lived with my sister and in the Mountains until Queen Nicnevin sent a messenger saying that there was to be a new Jagdsprinz, and Ly had to take the Hounds to her.”

Diana was not happy to hear about any of this. She’d come to the Hunt to escape the sort of things the Camorra did; but here she was being told some of the new people she was meant to protect _also_ had a trade in human bodies.

“What happened to the other people you took in?” she asked sharply. “Were they stolen again by someone else? How many humans are there with the Tylwyth Teg now?”

“We were married, so Ly took care of my estate for me,” Odile told her. “Everyone who didn’t go and marry someone else stayed on my lands and were safe. I don’t know how many humans are in the Silent Hills or any other kingdom, or how many have been stolen. There are always some who showed up accidentally, or they and someone from Honalee fell in love, or they made a deal and didn’t understand what the price was as much as they thought they did or thought when they made it they could get out of it and then couldn’t. Most people don’t steal others. But the Tylwyth Teg nobility don’t-”

“Sometimes they don’t respect Queen Nicnevin much, you said,” Diana interrupted. “Why?”

“It’s a bit of a tradition that the children of the ruling family marry in the lower nobility or marry outside of the Hills and leave,” Odile said as they reached the bus stop and sat down on the bench. The road wasn’t particularly busy, but people came by every so often, and Diana started to get a feel for what Nia had meant about people _staring_. At least no one else had come to use the bus stop yet. “Beli Mawr married Dānu, Amphitrite’s younger daughter, but it’s not like there were many other people around then, anyway. Then Llud Llaw Eraint married low nobility, one of the freeholding Ladies with a couple villages, a small amount of hills, a tiny copper mine, and more sheep than people. His brother Afallach married the Princess of Avalon and moved _there,_ and now holds the island as a vassal-state to the Hills. Arianrhod married the King of Buyan, and Llefelys and Caswallan were courting but not married yet when they died. Creiddylad hadn’t chosen anyone yet, but there were a few-”

She shook herself out of digression.

“Anyway. Gwyn had already married Nicnevin, who was barely nobility at all- her father wasn’t noble, and her mother’s mother wasn’t either- by the time everyone else was dead or had gotten themselves killed. They would have taken Nicnevin as Queen to Gwyn’s King. But Gwyn went off to Ereshkigal and got the Jagdsprinz created, so then he was Jagdsprinz Erlkönig and King of the Jägerskov, so he _couldn’t_ be King of the Silent Hills. Ly wasn’t born yet, and Arianrhod and Afallach had their own positions to rule, so Ereshkigal declared Nicnevin Queen of the Silent Hills and the Tylwyth Teg. A lot of the other nobles didn’t like that, so they started resisting her authority. And then the Jagdsprinz was killed, and Queen Nicnevin was angry and hurting and not paying as much attention as she could have been, and they could get away with more and more- so they did.”

Diana absorbed this information in silence, and after a moment pulled out her pocket notebook to write down everything on her mental to-do list so she wouldn’t forget anything important.

_-Buy groceries for two or three days_

_-Buy coats and boots (me, Nico, Odile)_

_-Find Vasco a doctor_

_-Contact Signor Agresta and Señor Fernandez, ask for some things (crib more clothes etc) to be shipped_

_-Tell Jagdsprinz to look for kidnapped humans/inform about political situation in Hills_

_-Get the Hunt a bank account_

_-Transfer our money to Switzerland_

_-Get the Hunt some sort of transpo_

She stopped in the middle of the last word to look over at Odile again as something occurred to her.

“If humans are fair game for kidnapping-”

“They’re _not,_ ” Odile corrected her. “It’s not allowed. It’s one of the things the Jagdsprinz’s Pact forbids. But people were doing it anyway.”

“If people _consider_ humans fair game for kidnapping,” Diana tried again. “For _sex slavery,_ and-”

She posed a silent question to her companion.

“Spouses, extramarital affairs, and special experience are the most common,” Odile told her. “For the Tylwyth, that usually means musicians or very, very good craftsmen. Elsewhere, I don’t know.”

“-other things,” Diana continued. “And also for making deals that bind them to Honalee in servitude?”

Odile nodded.

“Then _what_ ,” Diana asked. “Does Honalee think of a human Jagdsprinz?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Odile said. “I know some of them are interested, because it’s such a change. Some of them were probably hoping that the Jagdsprinz position would pass to someone from _their_ kingdom; but everyone else left it too long and were too scared to try or everyone knew they were deluding themselves. Ly told me that some people, I don’t know who or how many, think that a better decision could have been made, because she wasn’t born in Honalee and didn’t grow up or _live_ anywhere in it and doesn’t even do _magic._ Maybe a few of them are scared. I know the Hills humans the best; _they’re_ happy about it.”

Diana finished writing _‘transportation’_ and then drew an arrow down from the bullet about the Jagdsprinz and wrote: _‘suggest some sort of public opinion survey if possible’_. Reviewing her list, yet something _else_ occurred to her.

“You don’t know how to drive, do you?”

“Diana, the first place I saw _wheels_ was in the Hills.”

“And do you or your husband or anyone else in that house besides Nico and the Jagdsprinz and I have any sort of official identification.”

“Ly and Zorya are royalty-”

“Maybe their word or their face is good enough in Honalee, but do they have paperwork to _prove_ it?”

“Why would they have that?”

Diana added _‘Tell Jagdsprinz that she needs IDs and passports for members of the Hunt’_ to the list.

The rest of the morning was much easier to deal with. They got on the bus and rode into the downtown area, where Diana bought boots and coats, and then they went exploring to compare prices at the grocery stores. Diana had drawn out quite a bit of money in Naples and had it converted to Swiss francs, and it would be best to use it now instead of sit on it and wait too long- no one knew quite yet if the Swiss franc was finally going to be replaced with Euro, which had survived the decentralization of the European Union, or if the United Republic of the German Lands was going to drop the Euro and start using the Swiss franc, or replace the Euro _and_ the franc with something else completely.

Anyway, she hadn’t gotten money from Nia, who apparently controlled the grocery money.

They had a late lunch at a local restaurant, where Odile slipped into the bathroom to change her slippers for her new boots and fold her cape up and put it in the shopping bag that had held the coat now hanging on the back of her chair. While she waited for the food to arrive, Diana fed Vasco, then looked up doctors on her phone and sent an e-mail to her fathers-in-law asking them to send some of their belongings to Switzerland’s house in Martigny and keep the rest in storage, because they had joined the Hunt and the Hunt didn’t have room to spare at the moment.

Evidently, their late lunch had some overlap with Romano checking his e-mail, because three minutes later he shoved his way into the restaurant, did his best not to storm towards her table, and hissed: _“You did **what?** ”_

“It was for a good reason.”

“You don’t have _any_ **_idea-_** ”

“That’s what she told us when we asked to join. We did it anyway.”

_“You-”_

“Odile, this is my father-in-law. _Signor_ Agresta, this is Odile von Rothbart, Ly Erg ap Gwyn’s wife. Why don’t you sit down, since you’re here. We’re having lunch and then we’re going to get groceries. You could come along and we can talk about this.”

* * *

“Okay- wait, you’re going to have to try this again.”

“There are ten solidi to a bezant, three stavrata to a solidus, four folli-”

“We’ve got the currency divisions,” Nico told Dariya, tapping his pen against the paper he’d written them down on. “What we don’t get is the system.”

“Money can’t just be worth _more_ because I’m around,” Nia protested. “That can’t be a good way to run an economy.”

“It’s worth more because now you’re here to _tell_ everyone what it’s worth,” Dariya said patiently. “Business is a transaction which means it’s a form of contract, and without-”

“Without a Jagdsprinz, you can’t have a real contract,” Nia said. “Yeah, I know. But you all kept using money.”

“We couldn’t _not_ use money,” Dariya pointed out.

“ _We_ don’t use money,” Cauac said.

“You use _Kūnlún’s_ money.”

“Only if we have to buy things from outside of Chicomoztoc. The rest of you are too hung up on it.”

“So you still had to buy things, so you still used money,” Nia cut them off. “That makes sense. But you’ve been using money without the Jagdsprinz for a while. Why should it matter that _I’m_ here now?”

“International trade fell apart without a Jagdsprinz,” Zorya told her. “Póli Thálassas, Buyan, the Silent Hills, and Avalon use specie coin. Kūnlún uses paper money. Thálassian, Buyanov, and Tylwyth merchants wouldn’t take Kūnlún’s money. So Chicomoztoc and Kūlún traded with each other and Hawaiki and Lanka Kubera and Möngkedai Khan when they showed up, and the others traded with themselves. The whole thing split straight down the River Ífingr and the Mountains.”

“But without the Jagdsprinz to ensure that everyone was getting a fair deal,” Dariya continued. “The exchange rate _also_ fell apart. The bezant, the ruble, and the aurda are supposed to be worth the same amount. But without the Jagdsprinz, they weren’t, because you couldn’t trust that everything is fair. So the merchants went back to using the weight of the coins, and so they fell out of balance. Mathematically, one bezant is now worth two or three rubles, or five aurda; but really you get about three and a half rubles or seven or eight aurda to a bezant.”

“Why don’t the mathematical standards hold?”

“Personal reputation,” Adalram said. “Amphitrite is the eldest of the Kings but for Ereshkigal, and no one would say her weights are dishonest. Kaschei Perun is liked by his own people, and hasn’t done anything to make anyone else angry, but his reputation isn’t as set as Amphitrite’s. Queen Nicnevin isn’t liked by her own nobles, and any Tylwyth could pick up a handful of pebbles, and when you took them in payment, you’d think they were aurda.”

 “And you couldn’t just trust the Kings’ word that their money was good?” Nico asked. “Or keep trading at the same rates? You still haven’t actually _explained_ why no one will trust the money without a Jagdsprinz.”

“Yes we did,” Zorya said.

“ _No,_ you-”

“We _did,_ ” Dariya insisted.

“You’re going to have to try this again,” Nia told them for the fourth time.

Dariya sighed.

“Jagdsprinz,” she said slowly. “One can’t completely trust the other Kings on a matter of money without _your_ confirmation that they are telling the truth. You can trust your _own_ King more than someone else’s, but they are still _not **you.**_ ”

“Well, _I’m_ not an economist!”

“You don’t need to be. You just have to tell everyone what a solid gold coin will buy and then the merchants will take care of the rest.”

“But if the coins aren’t _the same amount of gold-_ ”

“Wait, Nia,” Nico said. “I think I’ve got it. So, the value of _our_ money depends on how much faith and trust people have in the government issuing it and the economies that use it. That’s why money is worth less when governments or economies have trouble. But in Honalee it doesn’t matter what the state of an economy is; the worth of the money is entirely based on the fact that people are confident that the amount of work they did to earn the money can be exchanged fairly for goods and services. It doesn’t matter what the money’s made of it. It matters who the government is who is guaranteeing that the whole thing is _fair_.”

“Are you telling me,” Nia said. “That the _only_ thing backing the worth of the economy is that I _say_ it’s a good economy.”

“Well, it _can_ manage basic functions without you-”

“We conduct our business with the protection and confidence of the Jagdsprinz,” Ly Erg said firmly. “Our money is worth as much as your honor.”

Nia buried her face in her hands.

“Oh God.”

“Which is why it’s so important to get Nysa running again,” Zorya told her. “It’s in ruins. There needs to be someplace where international trade can happen- where currencies can be exchanged and where prices can be set.”

“I don’t know what fair prices for these things _are,_ ” Nia protested. “I don’t have any background in business and I don’t know your currency or your pay rates-”

“Jagdsprinz, if you say it’s fair then it’s fair.”

“ _Thank you,_ Dariya; that was _completely_ unhelpful,” Nia told her. “What sort of currency does the Jägerskov use? And, if my existence means that _all_ the gold coins are worth the same, doesn’t that mean that people are losing money? And if Kūnlún’s money hasn’t been trading against the others at _all,_ how am I supposed to determine a fair price _there?_ ”

“This is why you’re careful about it,” Cauac advised.

“The Jägerskov had its own currency, but except for some caches people have been sitting on it’s all been traded to other countries and melted down for their coins now,” Adalram said. “Most of it went to the Hills and the Mountains.”

“So the Wild Hunt has no money except my personal funds,” Nia said, trying to shove down her frustration. “And the Jägerskov has no money because it’s all someone _else’s_ money now. If, through some miracle, we manage to rebuild Nysa, can I at _least_ tax people there? Am I allowed to tax people as Jagdsprinz.”

“Of course you can tax people,” Cauac said, faintly concerned. “You’re a _King._ ”

“Wonderful, so that’s _one_ thing gone right,” she said. “Now if only the currency was standardized.”

“If you so wish it-”

“You _cannot_ be serious.”

At the other end of the house, the front door slammed open.

 _“WE NEED TO HAVE A **TALK!** ”_ and a handful of seconds was all the warning they got before Romano strode into the kitchen, arms almost over-full of grocery bags and Odile right behind with more, then Diana with Vasco and the rest. There were some hurried not-quite-bows from the Honalee Jäger, but Nico and Nia just sat there looking at him.

“Talk with who?” Nia asked.

“ _Both_ of you,” he said forebodingly, thumping the bags down on the table, making the stray coins jump. “I was hijacked today into shopping for your groceries so _by God_ you _will_ listen to me!”

“I’m not saying we’re not going to listen to you,” Nia told him. “We’re about to start dinner-”

“ _I’m_ here _I’m_ cooking,” he snapped. “The rest of you- _out._ ”

“Respectfully, King _Napoli,_ ” Dariya said. “But _you_ are not our Prince.”

The Jäger looked to Nia, who was momentarily nonplussed before dismissing them.

Nico moved automatically into unloading groceries as his father banged around looking for knives and pots and cutting boards and base ingredients.

“I will talk to _you_ very soon,” he was told, and then regulated to the sidelines as his father rounded on his niece.

“You’re fucking up,” he informed her tersely.

Nia stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

“This is your territory but you let me walk in here like I owned it and barely challenged me,” Lovino told her flatly. “You’ve inherited an absolute monarchy and a damn army. Fucking act like it.”

“It’s not _much_ of an army-”

“Doesn’t _matter,_ ” he snapped. “It’s _yours,_ and you have authority, and you need to _live up_ to it.”

 “She’s barely had it a month-” Nico felt it was important to point out; and his father rounded on him.

“And _you,_ ” he started to say, then hesitated as some of the bad temper changed to worried concern. He put the knife he’d been using down and took his son’s hands, voice going quieter, a sort of resignation added to it. “What were you _thinking,_ Nico?”

“That you couldn’t keep me safe forever, _Padre,_ ” Nico told him. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t an apology for joining- he wouldn’t apologize for that. But somehow, maybe he could apologize for growing up, for not staying protectable.

* * *

Dinner had been a little unfortunately formal, but everyone got through it fine and the next day Diana took Odile up to Geneva, giving the reason that she needed to get her and her husband’s finances transferred and that the Hunt needed some sort of car for their own use.

The rest of the Hunt went back up into the woods; and after Nia sent some of them off to find a decent spot of land to have a cemetery, Nico got to see Nysa.

It was quite impressive, from the top. The view was gorgeous and the ruins were mostly gone, but it was easy enough, from above, to see the general outlines of where the roads and the buildings had been. And, as previously mentioned, there was a dragon living above it.

He was on the other side of the canyon, actually, spread out in the large grassy strip between the forest and the rocky lip, the end of his tail hanging off over the edge. He seemed very comfortable, and blinked large golden eyes at them as they approached. Nia rode straight over the natural land bridge to talk to him; while Nico was forced to brave the descent to the canyon floor on horseback, the first time in his life he’d been imposed upon in such a way. It was a bit nerve-wracking, but by the time they’d made it down to the bottom Nia was coming down herself, and the rest of the day was spent with the present Jäger explaining that the best way to get Nysa up and running again, or so they thought, was to clear away the brush, do the best they could with the road, and then invite the merchants to come and claim space. Rebuilding would be at their own expense.

“We can clear the brush away ourselves, mostly,” Nia said, looking it all over. “But how are we going to fix a road? I’m not sure we have that kind of money. Unless one of you has experience?”

“You have subjects,” Ly reminded her. “You can tell them to do it.”

“But I’d still have to pay them.”

“You can tell them to do it and they’ll have to do it,” Cauac said. “You don’t have to pay them. In Chicomoztoc we owe labor and goods to the government. That’s taxes.”

“This needs doing; and if you call it taxes, it will be taxes,” Siegrike informed her. “Or you can just tell them to do it without justification.”

“But won’t that make people upset?”

Siegrike looked at her blankly.

“You are King of the Jägerskov and Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor,” she said, a little slowly, like she was concerned that this fact hadn’t sunk in yet. “If you want a road, there will be a road.”

“And if I wanted a road in the Hills?” Nia demanded. “Or in Kūlún, or Lintukoto?”

“It would be harder,” Siegrike allowed. “But you would still be Jagdsprinz.”

Nia rode off to go stand by the pond and make frustrated noises about autocracy. The rest of the Jäger, Nico included, started to plan how they’d move the encroaching vegetation. Nia came back to join them, eventually.

The next day, Nico had expected that they’d go back down to Nysa and start working, but instead Switzerland turned up, trailing two men. Switzerland looked only slightly surprised to see him. The men got introduced as Sergeant First Class Marcell Wähner, recently of the Swiss Armed Forces, and Lucien Voclain, Switzerland’s personal secretary.

They’d brought guns; and that day was the first of many of military training.

Nico was not pleased. Diana was a bit more stoic about it, but then they learned that they were being taught from _both_ sides- Sergeant Wähner was there to teach the Honalenier, as the Sergeant had decided it would be rendered in German, about guns and modern human military tactics. Nico, Diana, and Nia got it right along with the rest of them.

But Nia, at least, had prior experience with swords; and her new job seemed to come with some incredibly _unfair_ perks, like knowing how to ride a horse and fight from horseback. Nico and Diana didn’t have that; so after the Sergeant was done for the day, they got to switch to swords, which Zorya sternly informed them were the traditional weapons of the Hunt, and they were still perfectly useful, so they _would_ learn how to use them. And, of course, more horses. They had a collective break a few days in, when the Vatican arrived to consecrate the plot of land selected for the cemetery and they buried the corpses from the House- a memory Nico would like to soon forget, but was sickeningly persistent- but that just made going back to the routine worse.

Sergeant Wähner, near the end of February, started to learn how to handle a sword and a horse, as well. This would have been a point of private satisfaction, except the strange semi-military decorum that had started to develop meant that Nia was the one who had to teach the Sergeant, and Nia had been quite good with a sword in her own right before becoming Jagdsprinz, so it wasn’t like Nico could make anything out of the newcomer actually being better at something.

Besides, the man was, infuriatingly, getting better at it all _faster_ than him. Diana was his wife, and that was easy to forgive. But his pride didn’t like it much.

There became a routine.

Morning was lunch, between seven and seven-thirty. Then it was training with Sergeant Wähner until lunch, then lunch at noon to one, and then after lunch depended on the day. On the ‘on’ days, Nico and Diana trained with Zorya and Ly on horses and swords and Sergeant Wähner with Nia on the same while the other Jäger ran assigned errands or, most often, cleared brush from Nysa. On the ‘off’ days- they alternated- everyone worked on Nysa until dinner, except sometimes for Diana, who was still doing all the shopping, now aided by the vehicle she’d purchased for the Hunt. Dinner was from five-thirty to six-thirty. After dinner was off, for everyone but Nia, who consulted with Lord Hiruz, or Lucien Voclain, or Switzerland himself, on things like administration. The impression the rest of the Hunt got was that these were just more lessons, for her.

Sundays were enforced rest days, because Nia went to church. Diana and Nico came along with Vasco. The upside of this routine was that the Honalenier were learning French and Swiss German, and everyone else was learning the Honalee Trade Creole, which was apparently what the Jägerskov and the Wild Hunt operated on.

To Diana, the Trade Creole sounded like someone had taken German, replaced a fourth of the vocabulary with Greek and something Nia had bad-temperedly identified as not Italian but Venetian, snuck in what was probably Welsh and some things she had no clue about, patched up the cracks with Chinese, and given it to a Russian to pronounce.

It was all very frustrating.

“Is he _joining?_ ” Diana asked Adalram, sometime in mid-March.

“The Sergeant?” he asked. “I don’t know.”

A couple of days later, Diana screwed up enough courage to ask him herself.

“I’ve been kidding myself that I wouldn’t,” Wähner told her after thinking on it a moment. “Switzerland will be gone in September. I don’t know what the world will look like then. But I have a job here, and I might not if I go back.”

“Nia- the Jagdsprinz,” Diana corrected herself. Wähner had a well-developed opinion about military etiquette. It didn’t always mesh well, given the general lack of rank titles in the Hunt. “She was pretty insistent that Nico and I not join.”

“My Nation asked me to be here,” Wähner said. “I don’t believe he would have if he didn’t think I couldn’t adapt to a new command structure.”

“I think it was more the _‘are you sure you want immortality’_ issue rather than _‘are you sure you want to live under my command’_ issue.”

That brought Wähner up cold.

_“Immortality?”_

“No one told you?” Diana asked. “It’s, ah- well, _I’m_ thinking of it as a job perk.”

“I’m the drill sergeant,” Wähner said with a twist of humor that told Diana that he was very aware of the dislike this engendered. “No one just _talks_ to me.”

“It seemed like you didn’t want us to.”

“I’m still not completely comfortable with the- _laxness_ of things around here,” he told her. “But it makes sense now. There’s not many of you, and most of you are new. Though-”

“Yes?” Diana asked after he didn’t continue immediately.

“The Honalenier call her _‘Jagdsprinz’_ or _‘my Prince’_ ,” Wähner said. “Lord Hiruz and Adalram and Siegrike and Merric call her _‘my King’_ sometimes; and even Herr Zwingli will call her _‘Jagdsprinz’_ when he says hello. Why do you and your husband call her _‘Nia’_? She-”

He made a hand gesture Diana was pretty sure she was supposed to interpret as being more expansive than it really was.

“She killed a _demon,_ ” he said, with a little awe. “She appeared from nowhere and chased it across the world and killed it, right in the Vatican. You had to have joined after that. She’s a king and some sort of- of enforcer of mystical law. But you act like you’ve known her for ages.”

“Well, she’s Nico’s cousin,” Diana said. “That’s how I met her first.”

Wähner looked quite taken aback by this.

“But she’s Honalenier royalty,” he said. “Honalee and Earth didn’t- _cross over_ like that, I thought. I figured there had to be _something,_ because she’s Catholic, and people were saying she was blessed by God, or guided by saints or guarded by angels or-”

 _“Nia?”_ Diana asked. It was so- _ridiculous._ People were saying this about _Nia;_ Nia, who’d been holding a very unCatholic streak of wrath and a four-year-long grudge. “Saints and angels? _Nia?_ ”

“She _killed_ a _demon,_ ” Wähner said seriously. “She was leading the Hunt and the Hunt forced it to ground in Mecca and Jerusalem and the Vatican. She killed it in _Saint Peter’s Square._ The _Pope_ vouched for her. I’m not very religious, actually- but that makes a big impression. Maybe it doesn’t look like divine intervention or something from the inside; but from the outside, it really does.”

“Nia was born and raised in Berlin,” Diana told him. “She went to university in Dresden; and taught fencing lessons in Copenhagen. Her brother is a stay-at-home father in Venice and her sister works for the UN in New York City and she’s not on speaking terms with her father or her uncle. She’s not some sort of mysterious untouchable semi-divine monarch and the ultimate dispenser of justice, whatever the Honalenier say about her.”

Wähner didn’t look convinced.

“Are you certain?” he asked. “Because it looks kind of like that from where I’m standing.”

Diana mulled on this for the rest of the evening and started to make discreet inquires when she went out shopping, which turned up some startling results.

She didn’t get to talk to Nia about them until much later, though, because things got even busier. It didn’t seem like they should have, because Sergeant Wähner was easing up on the training and protocol now that everyone who could handle a gun- Lord Hiruz the obvious exception, and Ly Erg exempted on the grounds that Tylwyth magic was especially sensitive to iron and therefore steel- and his announced decision that he would be joining the Hunt.

So he had to move his family- wife and three children- to Martigny, on short notice. And they had to buy a house, because there wasn’t any more room in what everyone had started calling the Schweizerhaus, to distinguish it more clearly from the Teufelhaus, or just the House. This, at least, wasn’t a problem, because through some mysterious means Switzerland was paying for whatever they found. Diana was assisting the Wähners here, scouting for locations, when she found out that Switzerland was _also_ paying his wages.

“Why is he helping?” she asked him.

“All he would tell me is that the Jagdsprinz will owe him,” Marcell said. He had dropped the Sergeant now that he was going to be joining the Hunt, which didn’t have ranks like that; and started encouraging people to call him by his first name instead. Diana and Odile were the only ones who were doing it without slip-ups.

The Wähners were installed into a house near Combarigny just in time for Zorya to appear, the next day, with two two-horse carts and her sister and brother-in-law, who had successfully passed on their duties to Buyan and Kitezh to return to the Hunt. Everyone was reshuffled in the Schweizerhaus- Nico and Diana finally got a real room, since they had Vasco to look after; and Ly and Odile were married and so got a room; and Nia was Jagdsprinz and none of the Jäger would kick her out of the house. The rest of them drew lots for the remaining rooms, and a campsite was established in the backyard for those who lost.

With fifteen Jäger- including Arion and Hiruz, who didn’t technically _need_ housing- Nia caved to the pressure of Siegrike and Adalram and Merric and ordered, as King of the Jägerskov, that her subjects finish clearing Nysa. Adalram was dispatched to oversee the Oreads’ and huldrene’s work there while the rest of the Hunt started to scavenge timber from the ruined Jagdshall and put up barracks.

Marcell didn’t think very highly of these barracks when he saw the plans for them, and went with Diana and Odile and his wife Corinne and his eldest son Theodor to get tools and unscavenged timber and other useful things, like doors and windows and a generator.

Cauac was surprisingly enthusiastic about the new scope of the project, and was very happy to find that there were generators for purchase. He and Corinne got on like a house on fire once they started working together- Corinne had worked with her family’s contracting company her whole life until the move to Martigny, and was more than happy to take over command of the construction work. So Cauac worked with the wiring and the plumbing, and Corinne supervised the framing and the construction of the walls and roof, and without anyone quite figuring out how, Switzerland appeared the next day and started hammering and moving wood unasked and without comment alongside everyone else; and some days and numerous trips to stores later, Corinne and Cauac did one last check of the wiring and heating and plumbing, had everyone put up and prime the drywall, and declared the barracks habitable.

“They won’t be as comfortable as a house,” Corinne told them, clearly unhappy about this. “And you still need to buy furniture and you should paint the walls and finish the floors first. But you’ll get lights and heat for when it rains and no one will be jockeying over the bathrooms any longer.”

“We can still improve on them, given time and resources,” Cauac said, a little more cheerfully. “And they won’t be hard to expand on, either.”       

The Hunt celebrated their end of manual labor with alcohol that night and by giving themselves the next day off until mid-afternoon, when Nia held a meeting in the library.

Updates were given- it was confirmed that Pwffio was going to stay in the Jägerskov, above Nysa, and serve as a sort of guard as major construction started; and that that construction _was_ ready to start. Lucien Voclain presented Nia with a list of Honalenier merchants and businesses that wanted to open shops.

“Is this one staying, too?” Dariya asked when he produced the list.

“Herr Zwingli would appreciate if I and my family continued to have employment with a suitable replacement once he encounters his demise,” Lucien told them, which really wasn’t an explanation at all.

The meeting continued. Adalram produced the identification cards, which Diana had told Nia about the probable need for some time ago, and they were distributed. Nico wondered where Adalram had had them made, because they came in a leather flip-wallet that was nearly identical to the official United Nations identification his fathers had. The leather was black, with the Hunt’s stag-head stamped on the top flap in gold. When he opened his, he saw that it effectively doubled as a passport- there were some pages for stamps in a pocket in the red cloth lining, and the laminated insert in the bottom had his picture and his name, but also his date of birth, birthplace, other citizenships, language- all the information his Italian passport had.

Diana actually did ask where Adalram had had them made.

“Leatherworking is a Jägerskov specialty,” he told her. “The cards were generously provided by King Schweiz.”

 _Switzerland again,_ Nico thought, and resolved to figure out what the Nation was up to.

Odile reported on her continuing investigations about the human residents of Honalee. There was some discussion about repairing the Jagdshall, since it was, after all, supposed to be where the Hunt operated out of.

“It was good enough for the Erlkönig,” Nia said. “But I don’t think it will be enough now. Where did your father store his paperwork, Ly? Governments need things like tax records, and censuses, and payrolls, and other things I can’t think of right now. But we need to keep _records_. In digital and physical copies.”

“Oh,” Ly said with a bit of distaste, nose wrinkling. _“Bureaucracy.”_

“She’s German,” Nico told him, and his technically-commanding officer pulled a face at him. “It’s to be expected.”

“So the Germans are like Kūnlún?” Dariya asked. “They write everything down? It always seemed rather silly to me.”

“You live underwater,” Cauac pointed out.

“When I can, yes. But Queen Amphitrite just keeps track of it all herself.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Zvezda said. “How are you supposed to make sure you don’t forget something important?”

“If you can’t remember everything you need to know about something, where’s the wisdom in giving you responsibility over it?”

“It just seems- _undignified,_ ” Ly protested. “Administration is what lesser nobles are for. Paperwork is for clerks and accountants, and they are hired only when necessary.”

“We write things down on Buyan,” Boreas said. “And this is why, Prince Ly Erg, _we_ can handle our subordinates. We have records so can find out whom to fire for being incompetent.”

“It’s also very useful for trade,” Cauac said. “Maybe if you were nice to your accountants, you’d actually have money.”

“We’re not arguing about this,” Nia cut in before things could progress. “We’re getting a bureaucracy and standardized forms and a computer system- the whole works. Just as soon as I can figure out how we’re paying for it. And that means we need a bigger building, and offices, and things like janitors closets and toilets and all that.”

“State rooms?” Lucien asked, taking notes.

“But those are expensive,” Nia complained.

“The formal reception room is still full of very expensive gifts,” Diana reminded her. “Some of them would be useful for things like furnishing a state room.”

“Can’t we just use the reception room?”

“If you clean it out,” Diana said. “And refurnish it. Probably you should hire a well-recommended interior decorator to come up with a color scheme and install new lighting, give suggestions for a better floor plan- it’s not a _bad_ room. It’s just…”

Lord Hiruz had been maneuvered into the building for this meeting, and now he raised his head from the rug in the hallway outside the room.

“It is insufficiently representative of your _dignitas,_ my Prince,” he informed Nia. “You deserve and are entitled to something much grander.”

“What?” she asked, sounding slightly annoyed. “Were you expecting a throne room or something?”

There was a general, slightly-judging silence from the Honalenier Jäger that said quite clearly that _yes,_ they _did_ expect a throne room.

“When we have _money,_ ” Nia told them. “And it even if we _do_ get that sort of money, it has to come under other things.”

“Like _what?_ ” Adalram demanded.

“Like bureaucracy,” Nia said. “And, since everyone else seems to have forgotten, I’m _contractually obliged_ to have embassies for whoever wants them within ten years.”

Her voice got an edge to it, then, and her expression changed into a fierce glare.

“Unless you _want_ me not to live up to a treaty I _personally_ signed?”

“Never, Jagdsprinz,” Boreas murmured after a moment a silence from everyone.

“I didn’t think so,” Nia continued, calming a bit. “And at this rate, we’re going to have to tell them to get houses in Martigny, because if we’re going to be concerned about my **_dignitas,_** then we can’t put them up in the barracks and we can’t be seen to be inconveniencing ourselves to accommodate them. Or have I misjudged politics somehow?”

“You seem to have the basics well in hand,” Lucien assured her. “And, on that, it seems prudent that your next step is to speak to the local government.”

“Does the local government mean the city of Martigny?” Nico asked. “Or does it mean Switzerland? Because Switzerland isn’t going to exist for much longer, and technically the VRG doesn’t _have_ a government yet.”

“I will find out,” Lucien promised.

* * *

Through the mysterious workings of government, rendered even more opaque than normal due to the circumstances surrounding everything, Lucien Voclain managed to arrange a meeting between the Hunt, the _Président du Conseil municipal_ of Martigny, the police chiefs of the Valais Gendarmerie and Sûreté, Prussia in his capacity as General Beilschmidt of the VRG military, and Switzerland and the German Lands himself as the stand-ins for the larger government.

Twelve days before the meeting, Diana finally got Nia alone.

“I’ve been talking to people,” she told Nia. “While I’m out shopping. You could call it informal public relations polling. And I think we need to take this meeting very carefully.”

“We were already going to do that?” Nia said uncertainly.

“You haven’t noticed, because I doubt you’ve left the premises of this building since the treaty got wrapped up,” Diana told her. “But you have a reputation.”

“I’ve barely done-”

“You killed a demon,” Diana interrupted flatly. “You did _plenty._ I only thought about it after talking to Marcell, because you and Nico are family and you knew each other already, and I’d met you a few times and knew _about_ you- but the rest of the world doesn’t. All they know is you dragged magic into the public consciousness by pursuing and killing a demon and the Pope endorsed you for it. Then you signed a treaty meant to reassure everyone you and the rest of Honalee weren’t going to go around wantonly destroying humanity and holed up on a mountain in Switzerland and haven’t talked to anyone since.”

“It’s not _‘holing up’_ ,” Nia protested. “We’ve been busy. And you and Odile are always out shopping, and Corinne and the boys haven’t been lying to anyone why they moved here. And we go to church on Sunday. People know that we’re here and we’re doing things.”

“But people don’t know _you,_ ” Diana said. “And it’s one thing to know that the Hunt’s people are out in town regularly shopping, and another thing to actually _know_ them. We don’t stop and talk on our shopping trips. And since when has anyone tried to have a real conversation with us at church? You have a reputation- _we_ have a reputation.”

“And it’s keeping us at a distance from everyone else?” Nia asked, crossing her arms. “Fine. What’s this reputation?”

“There’s two flavors to it,” Diana informed her. “I’ve been calling them _‘the Crusader King’_ and _‘the Shadow Guardian’_.”

“That’s needlessly dramatic.”

“For the Hunt?” she asked archly. “Dramatic is the _point_ , isn’t it?”

Nia frowned and silently conceded the point.

“Anyway,” Diana continued. “The less- hm. The less intimidating one is _‘the Crusader King’._ That’s the version where you’re exactly what everyone _wanted_ the Crusaders to be- holy warriors courageously opposing the forces of evil and driving away the darkness, etcetera, etcetera. This story has you with divine backing. Kind of like Joan of Arc, but with demons instead of Englishmen, and you don’t die at the end. And there’s a lot of the righteous mythic king going on, too. Sort of Charlemagne, or King Arthur, or Freidrich Barbarossa- oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“But it’s _ridiculous,_ ” Nia protested. “I’m not- I’m not _like_ that!”

“You showed up suddenly from a mountain in an hour of need to do holy deeds and then returned to the same mountain,” Diana told her. “You kind of are.”   

“Well I don’t like it,” Nia said. “It’s- _presumptuous._ A really assholeish kind of arrogance.”

“This is the part where the Honalenier get politely disapproving and tell you how you’re not presuming _nearly_ enough.”

“They can shove it- I’ll take exactly as much as I’m comfortable with and no more. Tell me about the other one.”

“I don’t think you’ll like this one much better,” Diana said. “Unless you happen to really like anti-heroes, because the _‘the Shadow Guardian’_ version has you as a hero, but one who isn’t particularly virtuous.”

“That’s a lot better than this _‘divine blessing’_ stuff.”

“When I say _‘not particularly virtuous’_ , I mean being violent, murderous, and generally committed to being a complete bastard to preserve the innocence and goodness of others.”

“You’re right,” Nia scowled. “I _don’t_ like this one any better. So these are important _why?_ Because the only image I really care about projecting is one of competence and professionalism.”

 “My God,” Diana said, letting her disgust show. “Forget finding enough money for bureaucracy and or embassies- the first thing you need to spend money on is a PR specialist.”

 _“Excuse **you,** ”_ Nia said chillily, affronted. “I do _not_ need-”

“Yes you do!” Diana exclaimed. “Or you need to get good at doing this for yourself! If you want people to respect you, you need to have a good image! And what people have been saying about you is unhelpfully polarized, I agree! But if you fuck up the first time you make a planned public appearance you won’t be able to fix it; because you’ll never have the same symbolism in people’s minds as you do now!”

“So you’re trying to tell me that it will be a disaster to, what?” Nia asked. “ _Not_ to play to people’s conceptions of me?”

“To not _use_ those conceptions,” Diana told her. “The Hunt does need competence and professionalism. But if you if you strictly for that, you’ll lose all the glamor. The mystery. And that’s what you _want._ ” 

“Mystery isn’t good for government,” Nia said firmly. “That makes people worried and suspicious and upset.”

“You’re not _thinking_ about this right, Nia!” Diana told her. “ _You are not running a modern democracy._ You could make it a _constitutional_ monarchy, I suppose, but I’ve been living and working with Honalenier _daily_ for more than two months now, and I am pretty convinced that the only reason they’d go for it would be to humor you. The Honalenier don’t _want_ you to be a republican! They like their monarchy and they trust you not to hurt them! And, more to the point, _Earth doesn’t want you to be a republican either._ You’re something out of a myth or fairy tale or a medieval fantasy novel for them, and they _like_ that. You’re Jagdsprinz, the Lord of the Wild Hunt, the Demon-Killer, the King of an entire enchanted forest- and everyone wants you to _act like it_.”

There was a long silence where they stared each other down until Nia looked away.

“I just wanted to have my father back,” she said quietly. “And for Zell and Heinz to stay safe. That’s why I went along to Honalee.”

Diana sighed.

“You got this instead,” she said. “I don’t know if this is your payment for killing the demon or what you paid for the pleasure; but you’re _important_ now. And I’m sorry you don’t have time to grow into it, but _Signor_ Agresta was right. You need to shape up. Fast.”

 Now that Nia had stopped being oppositional, she just seemed tired. She turned and opened the door to the library, and the two of them moved from the front hallway to sit on the couch.

“And you know how to do this?” Nia asked.

“My father was a Camorra boss,” Diana said. “I lived thirty-five years with him. I have a pretty good handle on how to create an image that inspires loyalty and terror in the right people.”

“I don’t think I want terror,” Nia said. “Much.”

“No, you don’t,” Diana agreed. “You want the best parts from _‘the Crusader King’_ and from _‘the Shadow Guardian’_. You don’t want the anti-hero or the divinely-guided reputation. They’re too divisive. But you can’t get rid of shadow/darkness imagery you already have; and you _shouldn’t_ get rid of the mythic King associations. You want to be honorable and upright, kind and firm in your relations with others, but stern when needed. You should be decisive in your reaction to threats, and keep an air of power and mystery. Your job is to punish those who do wrong and enforce the law, with a good side of magical power, and seen to use it responsibly. You want a sort of dark-but-not-evil majesty. There should be no question when you’re not off on a Hunt or actively fighting someone that this is an option that could occur as soon as it’s warranted.”

“You want me to be a knight in shining armor,” Nia said. “But without the shining.”

“And a heavy dose of kingly authority,” Diana added. “When Nico and I first showed up and Nico told you he wanted to join the Hunt, and you tried to convince him not to. That’s the sort of power you need to project. Or- I saw the footage of when you approached the Pope after the demon was dead. That’s good too, but with less menacing.”

“I wasn’t menacing.”

“You were a little menacing,” Diana told her. “It’s the helmet. It’s not very conducive to holding a conversation that’s not something like _‘You live because I have decided not to kill you yet’_. Not the best first impression. Maybe wear the armor and leave the helmet off.”

“I can do that,” Nia said. “The armor thing. I’ll- try, for the rest.”

“Good,” Diana said. “So now we need to talk about everyone _else’s_ image. You being properly mythic will do a lot, but unless the rest of us can look the part as well, it’ll just seem cheap. We need uniforms.”

“But we don’t even have ranks-”

“Then you should get on inventing some,” Diana told her firmly. “Now, I’m sure Marcell will have some ideas about this, since it’s more military; and I’ll get Lord Hiruz and Boreas as well, because they seem good at dignity and were important in the last Jagdsprinz’s Hunt.”

“Marcell is probably-” Nia said, starting to stand.

 _“No,”_ Diana cut her off, pointing. “ _Sit back down._ You are Jagdsprinz and a King- people come to _you._ You don’t go to them, unless it’s a state visit, where protocol keeps your dignity intact.”

It took the longest time to find Marcell- Lord Hiruz and Boreas were easy, because Diana had already known they were over at Nysa- but once the three of them tracked him down, he was delighted to be informed that Diana had started imposing decorum on their commanding officer.

The rest of the day was spent on the enclosed porch area by the dining room, since Lord Hiruz could be comfortably accommodated there. The Hounds were ecstatic for the company, and flopped all around, making little whining noises and pressing themselves to the ground and wagging their tails entreatingly to be petted.

While they all sat on the floor and gave attention to the dogs, they discussed the topic of ranks and uniforms. It took a slight bit of persuading the Honalenier that the Hunt needed uniforms beyond armor and a shared sense of purpose, but Lord Hiruz was as impeccable as ever in his loyalty to Nia’s wishes and Boreas had been General Winter for Buyan and King Kaschei Perun, and had an appreciation for the formality and impression uniforms made. Then it was a different set of persuading to convince Marcell that fifteen members wasn’t really big enough to give people ranks just yet, but that they _would_ happen once there were more members.

Then some paper was hunted down and uniforms were discussed. The Honalenier refused to budge on the color scheme being the Hunt’s traditional black, red, and gold- and, Diana thought, Nia wasn’t particularly keen to lose it either, since those were also her father’s colors. But, as she pointed out, mostly-gold uniforms would look very ridiculous, red uniforms said _‘British’_ , and something all-black carried unfortunate fascist implications on Earth.

But black was really the only color that would fit with the image Diana had outlined and everyone else present had agreed with, so black it was. It was Marcell who eventually came up with the solution.

 “People are expecting something medieval,” he said. “But-”

He looked to Nia.

“Am I am right in assuming that you don’t plan on _staying_ medieval, technology-wise? Besides the bureaucracy. Because I’m going to feel silly if I find out you had me out here training people on guns but weren’t planning on using them regularly.”

“Of _course_ we’re going to use guns,” Nia said. “Just as soon as-”

“As soon as there’s money for it, we _know,_ ” Diana said.

 “Guns will look funny with medieval armor,” Marcell continued. “Not to mention that people didn’t _have_ uniforms in the Middle Ages. And all-black modern-style uniforms are, as you said, completely out of the question. So why not have a middle-ground compromise and style them like 1700 or 1800s uniforms? That’s old enough to be respectable but not archaic, and there’s a sort of honorable romance about it, like how Diana explained.”

“And that _is_ about when people were reorganizing their cavalry units,” Diana said thoughtfully, opening the Internet and looking through pictures. Lord Hiruz watched over her shoulder.

“Quite proper,” he said approvingly. “Elegant and dignified.”

Examples and possibilities were sketched and ideas noted; and then Nia brought up money again.

“How are we going to pay for these?”

“We will handle it, Jagdsprinz,” Boreas told her. “The leather items, the boots and belts and gloves, should be Jägerskovsk work. But the sewing and tailoring can be Buyanov work. We are very good at it there, even if the fabric is other people’s specialty.”

 In the end, it was so; and Nia even managed to get inject some democracy into the proceedings by bringing the finished designs to dinner and asking people’s opinions on them.

* * *

The day of the meeting at the Martigny was the first time Nico had been in uniform, and he felt a little silly. It did look quite good, and he was impressed with how fast the Buyanov seamstresses and tailors and the mysterious Jägerskovsk leather-workers had gotten them finished and delivered, but he didn’t really _feel_ like he was part of an army.

Nonetheless, he got suited up, and he and Diana left Vasco with Odile for babysitting while they were out, and went outside and got on their horses and lined up. The town hall was on the other side of Martigny, so they weren’t going to ride the entire way there, and that was the only part of today that was good for his nerves. He didn’t think he would have been able to stand riding the entire length of the city on horse in uniform with everyone _staring_ at him.

Instead, once they were in formation- Nia in front, Hiruz just behind and off to the side, then Marcell and Zvezda at the front of the two lines, red sashes under their belts the only thing distinguishing their uniforms from everyone else’s and marking them as the newly-promoted squad officers- they rode down past Nysa to the World Gate, and then used that to appear at the corner of Rue du Cèdres, the road the town hall was on, and Rue Marc Morand. This caused rather a stir, and the Hunt went immediately into the small grassy park area behind the town hall so they wouldn’t block the roads.

The delegation, apparently with Switzerland in charge, came out to meet them there. After watching them for a few moments, Nico was glad that Nia was only taking Boreas and Adalram with her into the meeting. With the way Nia and her uncle and Dietrich Ehren were _just_ managing to be icily polite to each other, he didn’t want to be anywhere near them.  

“Do I want to know what that was about?” Marcell asked him after they’d left and the other Jäger had mostly dismounted so they wouldn’t tower over the curious pedestrians sneaking glances at them.

“It’s her business,” Nico told her. “If she wants to tell it.”

“Look approachable!” Diana hissed at them as she passed by on her way to remind the others.

Nico remembered his wife’s plan to foster goodwill and tried to figure out how to look non-threatening. This seemed like it would be a bit of a losing proposition, since they were openly displaying weapons, were dressed almost completely in black, and had a moose-sized, very imposing stag with them.

 The best they managed for about half an hour was smiling at the passers-by who openly looked in their direction for more than a few seconds at a time, but then things seemed to pass some sort of unspoken threshold. Zvezda, the only one still in her saddle, relaxed slightly from keeping watch. Arion stopped investigating the bushes and grass and flopped down on the ground with a loud huff, and Ly sat down with him and started to brush his mane. The other Jäger found seats, on a bench or in the grass or against their horses, and started holding conversations with each other. The Hounds-

“When did the dogs get here?” Nico asked Merric. “We didn’t bring them.”

The fog spirit just smiled.

“The Hounds go where they will,” they said. “And we rode out _en masse_ without bringing them to run in a Hunt. They’re curious.”

It was, of course, the Hounds that won people over. Some teenager asked rather nervously if he could pet one of them, and Zorya told him that of course he could, and once one dog was getting attention all the rest of them wanted attention as well.

So people began to stop and pet them, and the ones who were walking their own dogs cautiously approached, wary of snapping and growling that never came as the Hounds got along just fine with mortal dogs of all sizes. Tourists took pictures, which Nico found rather unsettling.

Then someone who must have known Diana from the shopping trips stopped to say hello, and Diana introduced her around, and people were listening in and small conversations started, haltingly, mostly along the lines of people wanting to know why they were here and what the Hunt was like and what the places they were from were like.

Astonishment was professed when Nico and Diana said they were from Naples, and the same with some pride in shared national associations when Marcell got to say he was from Winterthur up in Zürich.  

Lunch came and went, and Nia and the others were still in conference, so Marcell and Diana went out to buy transportable food and the Hunt had a picnic in the park area, some bolder souls sitting with them and having their own food. Stories were traded of Earth and Honalee, and everyone got along perfectly well; and eventually it was time for the children to be out of school and there plenty of hands to pet the dogs and the horses and ask breathless questions about magic and princesses and dragons and knights.

This was where Nia interrupted them, returning from the meeting accompanied only by the _Président du Conseil municipal_ , Gaétan Beauchene, and introduced him around.

“It’s been agreed that _Président_ Beauchene is our government contact,” they were informed. “If we need permission to do something outside of our borders, the only person we have to clear it with is him. It’s _apparently_ too complicated to have to clear everything with Stuttgart first.”

Nico took this to mean that the government of the United Republic of the German Lands had decided to take preventative measures against the interpersonal disaster the Jagdsprinz, General Beilschmidt, and Dietrich Ehren seemed to be becoming and keep the Hunt from going near Stuttgart if at all possible.

* * *

It took until May for Nico to actually ask about someone teaching him magic. He’d meant it to be the primary reason for his coming; but then Marcell had turned up, and he’d been being taught fighting and they were clearing Nysa- which construction was starting on now that the road to Finias in the Silent Hills was repaired- and building barracks and there just hadn’t really been time to think about it much, or to have time to be taught in if he _had_ asked. And he’d been exhausted most of the time, anyway, from the work and taking care of Vasco.

But May brought two events that had him thinking hard about magic, and what he could do with it, and who could possibly train him.

The first was in the first days of month, not long after the late-April meeting in the town hall. The Hunt was painting the barracks, and furniture was being delivered, courtesy of Ly Erg and Zvezda and Zorya, who had plenty to spare.

One of the teamsters delivering the furniture stopped to address his princess, and a few moments later Zvezda came over to where Diana and Nia and Lucien were sitting, going over finances; near where he was washing out rollers.

“Jagdsprinz,” Zvezda said, her frown not upset but concerned. “The carts report passing a procession from the Mountains.”

“A procession?” Nia asked.

“Yes-”

Adalram barreled out of the woods towards them in his wolverine form, slowing down just enough not to run into the card table Nia and Diana and Lucien were using.

“Jagdsprinz,” he said as he changed. “It’s the King of the Mountains.”

“King Alberich has already visited,” Nia said. “Why would he come back?”

“Jagdsprinz,” Zvezda said, now not concerned but gravely serious. “Alberich is King of Dvergar. He is not King of the Mountains. That is who he _serves._ ”

“Andvari the Careful is King of the Mountains,” Adalram told her. “He hasn’t been seen out of the Mountains in- well-”

“Since Jagdsprinz Erlkönig killed his wife,” Zvezda said. “Andvari King of the Mountains and Ahes, Queen of Kêr-Is, were married.”

“Someday somebody _is_ going to have to tell me what happened with Ahes and Kêr-Is,” Nia told them, standing. “Should we be worried?”

“His carts were loaded with chests and the drivers carried no weapons,” Adalram said. “But they are Dvergar and Trolls in service of the King of the Mountains, who keeps secrets in the dark.”

“So we should be worried?”

“You are Jagdsprinz,” Zvezda said loyally, as if that was supposed to help.

The King of the Mountains carts caused rather a stir when they arrived, because they were so many of them. They moved slowly, heavily-set with the weight of whatever they were carrying. They filled up the empty space behind the Schweizerhaus, and then the drivers got down and held the horses in place.

A palanquin came to the front, and from it descended Andvari the Careful. He didn’t look particularly impressive, but his presence was lent quite a lot of weight by the entourage that had come with him.

He walked straight up to Nia and said:

“You are Sonnehilde Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor daughter of Ludwig King Germany son of Thiudreiks King Germania son of Karlwarin King Germans?”

“I don’t actually know the family tree past my father,” Nia told him. “But yes, Ludwig Beilschmidt, the Federal Republic of Germany, was my father.”

“My agents have confirmed that, given the unfortunate instance of the demon Mephistopheles stealing memories, the soul that was called Ludwig King Germany had no antecedent but Thiudreiks King Germania,” Andvari told her. “And so Ludwig King Germany was the son of Thiudreiks King Germania son of Karlwarin King Germans-”

He swept a hand out to encompass the carts he’d brought along.

“-And so, I come to offer you Karlwarin’s Patrimony, the Rhinegold.”

That was-

But-

Nico was having a bit of an issue forming a complete thought about that.

“…Thank you,” Nia said, clearly not sure exactly how to handle this situation. “ _But_ I know this story. That’s cursed gold.”

“Not for you,” Andvari told her. “If you agree to take it.”  

“Your phrasing makes me think this isn’t a gift.”

“Not entirely,” Andvari agreed. “You are not the only person who could claim it. Allow me to explain.”

“Please do.”

“Shall we sit?”

Andvari waited until Lucien had come back with a chair for him before continuing. By this point, Nico had given up the pretense that he was cleaning anything was just watching; and most of the Jäger had left off painting to drift out and watch as well.

“In the past, a long time ago,” the King of the Mountains began. “Before there was a difference between Nordic and Germanic, Karlwarin was King Germans. He was not a stranger to Honalee- and he was friend. We _three_ were friends, the Jagdsprinz, Karlwarin, and I. When I married Ahes, she proposed a contest between us to see who could find the Blood of the Mountains-”

“Excuse me,” Nia said. “The _what?_ ”

“You call it the Rhinegold,” Andvari told her. “It is the first gold ever created, the sun’s fire in a form that can be cooled and stored. _‘Gold are mountains’ blood, iron are mountains’ bones; stone are their skins, quartz are their hearts’_. Now Ahes set us this challenge, and all three of us were game, but it was Karlwarin who found it. In good spirit and as a celebration of his victory, I made him a ring of some of the gold.”

He produced the ring in question and laid it on the table. It didn’t seem particularly magical, though there was a certain- _liquid_ quality to it, under the surface sheen.

“Ahes spelled it as well, so that the Blood of the Mountains or any treasure added to it could only be used by Karlwarin, or by one of his descendants to build and secure their own power. Throughout the years Karlwarin added to it- other precious items, mostly war loot. The Jagdsprinz, being a friend, warned him when his death was coming, and so Karlwarin summoned his sons and asked them which would take the ring Andvaranaut and the treasure that came with it. His elder son Eindriðe King Scandinavia knew that his younger brother Thiudreiks King Germania had more neighbors who would threaten him, and so he let Thiudreiks have the ring and the treasure. So Karlwarin gave Andvaranaut to Thiudreiks, presented the swords Hrotti and Ridill to his sons as a last gift, and died.

We did not hear from Karlwarin’s sons for some time, but then one day Thiudreiks came. Rome had grown and was threatening his people, and he came to search for a way to stop it. Gold had not been enough, and force had won them some time and space, but not enough. Thiudreiks took his case to Jagdsprinz Erlkönig and provided ample evidence of wrongdoing by Rome against the Germanic tribes, and of Marcus King Rome against his self.

The Jagdsprinz would have gone to take Marcus King Rome for Ereshkigal then, but Thiudreiks asked and asked again for the power to do it himself. The Jagdsprinz told him there would be payment for this; that his children would constantly be at odds and have no peace. Thiudreiks asked again, and the Jagdsprinz gave his sword Ridill the power to kill Marcus. So Thiudreiks left, and the deed was done- but he was not pleased at what he had wrought, and became wretched with regret over killing the man who had once been a friend, and he threw away his Patrimony into the Rhine. But by the time I heard that he had done so, I was too late to retrieve it. Hreidmar King of the Dvergar had already taken it, and then his son Fáfnir the Sorcerer changed himself into a dragon to kill him and take the Rhinegold and much of the treasure of the Dverger for himself, and then _his_ brother Regin went to my wife to ask her to loan her sword Wrath to a human to kill his brother and take the Rhinegold and treasure from his brother-”

Andvari shrugged.

“-and then it becomes the story I suspect you know, in some form, since you called the gold _‘cursed’_. It is cursed for those who are not descendants of Karlwarin, as the spell my wife Ahes put on it enforces. Fáfnir’s hoard and the objects Siegfried gathered for himself became part of the Rhinegold treasure when they were stored together; and after Hagen killed Siegfried and once more threw it all into the Rhine, I was on hand to retrieve it before anyone else could and keep it in trust against the day when someone could claim it. Meanwhile, as I added to it, as befitted a good trustee, Thiudreiks’ children slaughtered each other and came to ends no one could have forseen, Eindriðe’s children became strong under their own power, a demon rose and fell, the Erlkönig was killed, and I knew little of it. Now you are here, and I come to offer it to you.”

Everyone listening thought on this a moment.

“But, King Andvari,” Lord Hiruz said. “Do you not have to offer it to _all_ of Karlwarin’s descendants?”

“If the Jagdsprinz will not have it, I shall,” he replied. “But seeing as she is Jagdsprinz, as her father’s grandfather’s friend was, and that she bears the Helm I forged and Ahes spelled to inspire terror, it seemed fitting that I come here first.”

“Give me a moment,” Nia told Andvari, and stood, turning away from the table. “Lord Hiruz, Nico.”

Nico hadn’t at all expected to be _summoned,_ and it took him a minute to react and walk over to her.

“Nico,” she said quietly once they’d grouped together. “I’m trying to remember Cass’s ridiculous family tree. Who’s eligible to get all this?”

“You and your siblings, of course, and your niece and nephews,” he said, buying time for him to think. “I’m going to assume Zell counts since it’s not like this is strictly about genetic relations. Dietrich could get it, or Switzerland or Austria or Liechtenstein.”

“Even if Zell doesn’t count for some reason because she’s adopted,” Nia said. “Rémy does, through France. And Austria means János. Sweden, Norway, Iceland, and Denmark could get it; or Armas, Ásdís, or Øystein.”

“Or Russia or Ukraine,” Nico added. “I remember that, because it was always so strange. That’s through Sweden because something about Vikings and Rus’; so Halya, Pavel, Rozete- uh-”

“Anatoli or his son, or Rozete’s son.”

“Right. There were… there were other Nations. Uh- Luxembourg! And Belgium and the Netherlands. Oh damn; and England.”

  “So that’s America and his son, and Canada, and England’s daughter and granddaughter. Oh; and I’m pretty sure Halya had her kid.”

“Wait; we forgot your uncle-”

“ _Prussia_ isn’t actually related,” Nia told him, with an angry twist on his name. “He’s German-converted Baltic. We called him family because he married Brandenburg and ended up with-”

He could see her getting angrier just thinking about, and so interrupted with: “So then at least Cass can’t get his hands on it. _That’s_ a relief.”

“ _Cassiel_ does not any more fucking money,” Nia agreed vehemently, and turned to the other person in the conversation. “Should we take this, Lord Hiruz?”

“You have been saying we need money, my Prince,” he said. “And this will be quite a _lot_ of money.”

“But I’m not sure I trust it when he says it’s not cursed.”

“The King of the Mountains had _lied_ to you?” Lord Hiruz demanded, nostrils flaring in anger at the thought.

“No, no- he said it wasn’t cursed for me, and that was true,” she told them. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t come with a price, right? Because this feels too convenient, like the way I was just _given_ the information I needed for vengeance. And that got me here. I’m not saying it was a _bad_ price, but it was still something.”

 “And of course you grew up with a brother who does opera in Germany and probably heard a lot of Wagner,” Nico said.

“That’s certainly having an effect,” Nia allowed. “But it seems to me like either the treasure _isn’t_ cursed, in which case we take it and are not cursed and have money; or it _is_ cursed or there’s some sort of uncomfortable payment. If that’s the case then we can either not take and not have a curse or payment but also not have money; or we can take it and have the curse or payment but money.”

“And if there _is_ a curse or payment we’d rather avoid,” Nico added. “Then if we _don’t_ take it, it will just get passed to someone else in your family. Like maybe your siblings.”

“Heinrich wouldn’t take it,” Nia said firmly.

“And Zell?” he asked.

“She-”

She actually looked uncertain about that.

“It’s supposed to be used to build and secure your own power,” she finally said. “And Zell has a government job. She cares a lot about Nations, and she’d use it to get power for herself to protect them. But I don’t know what she’d do to get that power, and how she’d use it; and mixing money and government for power sounds illegal.”

“Like the sort of illegal you’d have to get involved in?”

“The sort of illegal where I have to execute people for flagrantly betraying their duties and laws,” Nia said, looking a little haunted by this possibility.

“I believe that King Andvari would approach the other Kings before going to your siblings, Jagdsprinz.”

“There’s already enough political trouble with the German states,” Nia said firmly. “The last thing they need is Switzerland, or more likely Austria, getting their hands on it and throwing a wrench in the works for the treaty and the declaration of the United Republic. Liechtenstein would be okay- and it might actually be _good_ for her, since she’s going to be surrounded by the VRG soon enough. But I don’t know enough about what the other Nations would do with it to make any guesses.”

“Then, Jagdsprinz,” Lord Hiruz said. “It seems to be that if you do _not_ accept your Patrimony, it shall do nothing but engender trouble for, or in the hands of, whomsoever _does_ accept it.”

“And we still wouldn’t have any money,” Nico felt it was important to point out.

“I’ll take it,” Nia said after a moment. “But I want to ask another question first.”

She raised her voice as she turned so it would carry back to the table.

“King Andvari, tell me- is there a price that comes with this acceptance?”

“Not for the treasure, Jagdsprinz,” she was told. “But for the effort I have put in to guard and grow it.”

“This seems fair,” Nia said. “What is the price?”

Andvari reached into his robe-like coat and pulled out a small bottle with some clear liquid in it. He set it down on the table.

“This is will guarantee conception, no matter what the circumstances- impotence, infertility, a curse, natural impossibility- my price is that you leave with world with an heir to the Patrimony, Sonnehilde Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor, so that I do not have to keep these riches under trust in the face of disaster again.”

Nia stared at the bottle for a moment.

“I will do so then, Andvari King of the Mountains,” she said, and took the bottle and the ring, slipping on the middle finger of her right hand.

Andvari smiled, looking quite relieved.

“In that case, Jagdsprinz, let me better acquaint you with the best of your treasures,” he said, waving the three people who had been carrying his palanquin forward, two of whom had chests. The one on the left placed theirs down in the grass, and opened it. The inside of the chest was lined in cloth, and glowed gold with reflected light from the gold within. The ring had seemed liquid; but this gold _was._ Nico experienced a momentary jolt of fear when Nia held her hand near it, tentatively; then submerged her hand.

“This is the Blood of the Mountains, the Rheingold,” he said. “The treasure is yours to dispense with as you wish, but I would advise you against spending this. Fáfnir’s hoard is vast and deep; but the Rheingold has worth beyond money, and cannot be replaced.”

“Thank you for your advice,” Nia said, transfixed as she pulled her hand out and watched the gold flow and drip back into the chest.

The second carrier, the one without a chest, stepped up to the table. It looked like they were empty-handed, but there was a _thunk_ as something fell to the table, and an invisible cloth was grabbed and flipped open to reveal two swords.

“The Tarnkappe, the cloak of invisibility,” Andvari told her as the carrier shook the cloak out and then folded it inside-out, so whatever magic made the outside invisible was hidden to keep it from being lost. “And the swords Ridill and Hrotti. The cloak is one of a kind, and when it is worn the magic will activate only when the hood is up. The swords are ancestral, for you, but now hold no special properties. You may do with them as you like; though I suspect you may wish to keep them; perhaps to bequeath to family later.”

The swords looked rather fancy to Nico, for how old they were supposed to be. They were sheathed, so it was impossible to tell how well taken of the blades were, but the scabbards were in good repair and the golden hilts shone.

“And these-”

The third carrier, with the second chest, this one ornately decorated, placed it in the grass and stepped back to allow Andvari to get behind it and undo the clasps holding the top closed. He lifted it with a certain deliberation that made everyone pay a slight bit more attention.

“-are the Stars of Kêr-Is.”

This chest was more complicated than the one that held the Rheingold- this was more like a very large jewelry box, actually, complete with black velvet lining. When the top opened, two trays rose from the body and spread off to the sides to lay the inside of the chest bare. Andvari knelt down and pressed one of the decorations near the bottom of the front piece, and a drawer popped open. He pulled it out.

The Rheingold had glowed. The Stars of Kêr-Is _sparkled._

The trays each held a crown- on the left, a heavy circular piece made of wrought iron with steel and gold scrollwork; on the right, a thin steel circlet, unadorned, but with small points of brilliant white floating over it, constellation-like. The body of the chest beneath was filled with what could have been diamonds, ranging from pieces so tiny that they could have been the heads of the smallest of seamstress’s pins to stones the size of a fingernail. In the bottom drawer were arrayed strings of them, almost unbearably bright against the black velvet; and larger stones, the length of a finger joint or thumb, thin and oval-shaped, red and gold and orange and blue and green and lavender.

Nia picked up the heavy iron crown, and with it came a sheer dark veil. At first it looked simply black with pinpoints of light in it, the tiny stones applied to the fabric- but then the veil caught in the air and it rippled, revealing an array of bright colors clouded and swirled together, the pinpoints drifting muted behind and around them.

It was familiar, but it was a moment before Nico could recognize it.

Nebulae. Clouds of dust and gas in space, and the stars and galaxies behind them.

So then- the larger stones in the drawer, the deep-space pictures of far distant galaxies shining like scattered gems; and the constellation-like lights on the other crown, an _actual_ formation, pulled out of the sky-

“And how,” Lord Hiruz said gravely as Nia stared at the veil and tentatively folded it back in place in the tray so she could replace the crown. “Did you come by the Crown Jewels of Kêr-Is, King Andvari?”      

“Ahes came to the Mountains the day before she died and placed them in the treasure herself,” Andvari said. “I can only assume that she knew that when the Jagdsprinz came to visit, she would be discovered and killed. Why she thought that placing them into the Patrimony was the best place for them, I cannot say.”

“What goes there?” Nia asked, pointing to an empty space in the underside of the chest top.

“The Stardust,” Andvari told her. “She did much magic with that, and must have kept it for herself. I imagine it’s at the bottom of the Ocean with the ruins of her city, now.”

“And I probably shouldn’t try to sell these, either, since they’re Crown Jewels.”

“Can you set a price on the stars, Jagdsprinz?” the King of the Mountains asked. “You have much power, but I think even that might be outside of your reach.”

 “Well, thank you,” Nia told him; and Andvari started to close up the chest and the rest of the carts began to unload onto the grass.

“This is incredibly helpful and I’m glad it happened to us,” Nico heard his wife say to Lucien in an undertone. “But where are we going to _keep_ it all?”

The second thing that happened that May did not occur in Martigny, nor to the Hunt. They were nowhere near it, because it happened in Venice.

On the morning of May 15th 2053, Amphitrite Kataiis rose from the sea to meet Feliciano Costa during La Sensa for Il Sponsalio di Mari. She took the ring from his hand, and raised the entire city of Venice four feet higher above sea level than it had been, straightening leaning buildings and shoring up the sediment, to celebrate their formal reunion.

“Four feet,” Nico heard Nia muttering once the news came. “ _Four feet._ That’s put St. Mark’s back where it was when they _built_ it.”

But if magic could strip the flesh from people, cook and rot them alive, curse a treasure hoard, guarantee the conception of new life, and change in a minute what nature had wrought over centuries, Nico knew he _had_ to know what he was doing.

* * *

Magic lessons turned out be harder to obtain than he’d thought.

 _“Lessons?”_ Zvezda had asked when Nico had brought it up. “For _magic?_ ”

“But you just… _do_ it,” Ly had told him, puzzled.

Cauac tried to be helpful.

“Well,” he’d said. “The Tylwyth are naturally good at illusions, and the Thálassians at shapeshifting and healing and doing things with water, and the Buyanov do storms and other weather, and Jägerskovsk do earth and nature things, and the Dvergr and Trolls who serve King Andvari know secrets about magic no one else does. In Chicomoztoc we’re good at magic for light things- fire and electricity and such. Morningtown got their train from our engineers; and _we’re_ the ones who ran the line from Quiviria to Lanka Kubera through the Steppes. So what are humans good at?”

“Lots of things,” Nico replied. “But humans don’t _do_ magic.”

“But _you’re_ human,” Cauac said, puzzled.

“Both my parents are Nations,” Nico reminded him. “We’re not sure if I count as human or not.”

“Then you’ll be good at what Nations do,” he was told, the words completely confident.

“But I’m _not_ a Nation!” Nico protested. “I can’t do what they-”

He remembered the shooting, something that he’d managed to bury with work and the Hunt, and tried to push it out of his mind.

“-most of what they do,” he changed it to. “And that thing I only did once, and I’ve done lots of different things _besides_ that.”

Cauac thought about it a moment, shrugged, and advised him to go ask someone else.

So he went to Dariya and Siegrike and Adalram and Merric, who, being a rusalka and an Oread and a Hulder and a fog spirit, respectively, seemed probable to know the most about magic.

“The only time you get lessons for magic is if you’re learning how to do something very powerful or very complicated, like enchanting objects,” Merric told him. “But for just- just doing it? No one teaches _that._ ”

“What do you mean, _‘humans don’t do magic’_?” Dariya demanded. “Of _course_ they do magic. Folk magic.”

“That’s superstition,” Nico protested.

“You should check,” Siegrike told him.

He complained to Diana about it that night; and Diana complained right back. Now that the Hunt had money, Nia had decided they could afford to finance a market. When it had been pointed out to her that Nysa wasn’t going to be ready for another few months, she’d cited the portion of the Tripartite Treaty that made her responsible for Earth-Honalee trading and went down to ask _Président_ Beauchene if he would be open to the idea of holding a couple-of-days-long summer market, right during the good tourist season, to promote understanding between Earth and Honalee and get the trade started. Beauchene had been delighted at the suggestion, so now the Hunt was going to gear up for finally setting an exchange rate and vetting Honalenier merchants-

“There was a brainstorming session,” she told him. “And the Honalenier were making a list of the things you could usually buy at markets, and someone thought up weapons, and we had to tell them that swords and such weren’t going to sell well. They were going to be collector’s items or curiosities. We all got trained on guns- we’re _still_ getting trained on guns, every so often, but they were _still_ surprised.”

“It doesn’t seem like they’re used to the _idea_ of guns, though,” Nico pointed out.

“But then Marcell wondered how guns and magic got along, like if magical armor would block bullets, or if something could be made with magic that was better than the body armor _we_ can make, and if you could or could not magic a gun; and I could just _see_ Nia filing that away in her head to find out at some point-” 

“It sounded like Chicomoztoc is the most technologically-oriented part of Honalee, from what Cauac said,” Nico said. “So I guess I should tell her that she probably wants to go there.”

“You don’t need to,” Diana said unhappily. “Zvezda said that Lanka Kubera used guns, but everyone _else_ gets along just fine without them, so why were we all hung up on guns? And then Marcell asked about Lanka Kubera, and the whole thing got hopelessly sidetracked until I reminded Nia that the market was a good idea, but regular humans get jumpy around magic. So _now_ she’s going on a trip to Navin Technologies to ask them how they keep people from panicking around their products, so we can have this market.”

She got quiet, the way that Nico knew meant there was a problem.

“I’m _worried,_ Nico,” she said after a moment. “What if someone _does_ manage to magic guns better, or body armor better? What sort of arms race would _that_ spark off? It’s bad enough with organized crime always trying to buy better and better- what if _they_ get their hands on it?”

This was a concern Nico didn’t think he would have come up with on his own.

“You should probably tell Nia that you’re worried, and why,” he told her. “And I’d say to tell her not to let Cass know you talked about it because he’d be one of the people who could kick it off, but he’s probably already thought of it and started trying to make some.”

“And _you_ should talk to Lord Hiruz,” Diana told him. “He seems to be the most knowledgeable person around here- he’s practically Nia’s chief advisor.”

The next day, he did just that.

Lord Hiruz listened patiently while Nico outlined the magic he’d done in his life, the worries he had about accidentally hurting people with it in the future, and the problems he’d encountered with asking the others about learning it.

“I believe,” he said once Nico had finished. “That the problem here is that they have all _grown up_ with magic, and so think that it is not taught. To an extent, they are right- there are no schools that teach it, and parents do not sit their children down for lessons on how it works. There is a large element of simply growing into what magic you can do. But _you_ grew up thinking of yourself as human, in a world where magic was not a factor in your life, and need the training that we in Honalee just absorb by living.”

“So you can’t help me, either?” Nico asked unhappily.

“No,” Lord Hiruz said. “I can advise you that your best course lies not in seeking answers from Honalee, but from your own people. Your Kings, primarily, and Cassiel Navin or King England’s fey granddaughter. However they work magic should tell you how humans and Nations do it. And I can tell you some things myself, that I suspect they do not know.”

“Oh?”

“I shall tell you of the Sorcerer-Queen of Kêr-Is,” Lord Hiruz told him. “It is the story that young ones across Honalee are told, about what they may and may not do with magic.”

“I was kind of wondering when someone was going to tell this story,” Nico admitted. “I figured that _someone_ would want to tell it to us humans, but no one seemed to want to talk about it.”

“That is because before the demon Mephistopheles appeared, the Sorcerer-Queen of Kêr-Is was the greatest threat Honalee had ever been faced with,” Lord Hiruz told him. “I was the only one to accompany Gwyn ap Llud to the city that day, at first, when he destroyed it. It was just supposed to be a visit between friends, with some administration added on, but-”

His ears flicked back, and he sounded uncertain, for the first time in Nico’s acquaintance with him.

“-it was a very strange thing. Ahes had always been a good person, level-headed and kind and engaged in powerful magic, more powerful than nearly anyone else’s, but forever knowing the limits she must have. It was said that Ereshkigal and Mayet themselves taught her some of the things she could do.”

Nico thought about the Crown Jewels.

“Like pull the stars from the sky?”

“Just so,” Lord Hiruz agreed. “But this day, when Gwyn ap Llud went to see her- it had been but two days since she had passed through the Jagdshall and we had seen her last. There was a matter that the Jagdsprinz had forgotten to bring up, and so the visit was to be a surprise. But when we arrived, she- terrible things she had done. _Forbidden_ things. The Jagdsprinz told me, later, that the least of the things she had engaged in was time-travel. That alone would have been enough to ensure her death.”

“That’s illegal?” Nico asked, suddenly gripped with fear.

“You refer to the incidents that befell the human Kings, your Nations, under Mephistopheles?” he asked. “The Jagdsprinz has told me of that; and the fault there is on the demon. They were unwitting participants; and that is no crime. But Ahes had set up the city to collect magic enough to power a time travel spell to displace many people from the time they were in, and had already used it, on others and herself. And to power it, the Jagdsprinz said, she had committed more sins- she had ripped out and destroyed people’s memories to use the power that comes from such an act, and she had quartered a _soul,_ the _essence_ of a person.”

The fear went icy cold in the pit of his stomach.

“You can _do_ that?”

“The Sorcerer-Queen is the only one known to have done such a thing to a soul,” Lord Hiruz said. “Even Mephistopheles confined himself to ripping away and storing memories, which is bad enough, but not so terrible a thing as letting them free to dissolve and be gone forever. The intangible parts of the soul are the most vulnerable, Nicodemo, and you must be careful with them.”

“Wait,” he said. “There are different _parts_ of a soul?”   

“They do not teach you this?” Lord Hiruz asked, sounding honesty astounded. “Truly?”

“Well, uh- the Church doesn’t say anything about it,” Nico told him. “You have a body and you have a soul. When you die your soul goes to Heaven or Hell, and at the end of days after the Second Coming God will bodily resurrect the souls in Heaven because Paradise has returned to Earth.”

Lord Hiruz shook his head.

“How your God treats the souls of his people is not my business,” he said. “But in Honalee, in magic, we know that they have many components. Souls are what make you _exist._ _‘Soul’_ is a bit of a misnaming for the entire system, as the soul is really the essence of the existence, that everything else is rooted to. Attached to the soul-essence is the mind, made in persons of instinct, intellect, memories, and sapience; and the body, which determines the instincts and the magic you can do; and the life force, that ties the rest of your soul to the body; and the shadow, which is the impression your mind-soul makes on a spiritual plane, where you leave your physical body behind. Any of these components but the soul-essence can be suppressed, removed, damaged, destroyed, used as collateral, or exploited for power. There are other portions, which are essential to making a person but cannot be removed or damaged or destroyed or added- the ability to use magic, and whatever power makes a Nation. It is theorized that the power that makes one a Honalenier King is also something that is added onto the soul, but we know not where our souls go when we die, and have no way to test whether or not a soul that was a King but has died may access that power when someone else has taken it up.”

“But our parents were human-”

“What I said, Nicodemo, was that being a Nation cannot be _removed_ from a soul. I did not say it could not be suppressed; just as any of the other components can be.”

Nico wondered if he’d be able to keep track of all that. He’d probably ask again, later, if he couldn’t remember it all went he decided to write it down.

Lord Hiruz continued with the story.

“But there was one final thing that Ahes had wrought that the Jagdsprinz could not let her live for having done. In destroying people’s memories, she had prevented him from being able to see their wrongdoings.”

“Wait- I thought you couldn’t do that,” Nico interrupted. “You’re all always acting like Nia is the next best thing to omniscient and infallible; but if you can just _block_ it, what _good-_ ”

“And there you have grasped the problem,” Lord Hiruz said. “Once memories have been destroyed, they are unable to be retrieved- and it is impossible to tell if the person whose memories have been destroyed has done any wrongdoing, or if the person doing the removing has. They can no longer be trusted; and all must die.”

“But what if they’re innocent?” Nico protested. “What if someone took memories that had nothing to do with doing anything wrong, like- like if you took out all the times you were brushing your teeth, or something.”

“There is no way to tell,” Lord Hiruz said firmly. “And so it is better to err on the side of caution. They _must_ die to preserve the system; and the one who has done the deed must as well, because they are now responsible for the death of another, and because they have endangered the way things work, and because if they have taken memories from others they are capable of having taken their own memories to cover up _other_ misdeeds.”

“But what if they took their own memories of taking other people’s memories?” he asked. “What _then?_ ”

Lord Hiruz seemed amused by this.

“That, Nicodemo, is a question philosophers have been debating for longer than your parents have been alive. And so, because of these things that Ahes had done, the Jagdsprinz killed her; then summoned the Hunt and killed the rest of the city, to be as sure as possible that things had been put right, and then sank the city to the bottom of the Ocean so that it could not be used for the time travel it had been set up for.”

“Why _is_ time travel a death sentence?” Nico asked him. “Is it to discourage people from doing it and creating a paradox, or something?”

“It is a death sentence because you _cannot_ engage in time magic without causing a cessation of existence,” Lord Hiruz said. “This is the most heinous sort of magic, besides outright attacking the soul-essence; for as soon as you travel to the past or to the future, or you observe the future through some means of divination or fortune-telling beyond the vague and useless implications, you have confirmed that a certain set of souls exist in a certain way because of a certain sequence of events, and altering them then causes those souls to _cease existing,_ and be replaced with a different set. An entire _universe,_ replaced. They may be quite similar to the ones that existed before- but that does not change that the action had obliterated uncountable numbers of people. And there is _no_ life that is too precious not to kill for such a thing.”

Nico thought about what he’d been told. It was mostly straightforward so far, though he didn’t think he agreed with some of the logic.

“Is there anything else I shouldn’t do?”

“Creating undead,” Lord Hiruz told him. “Using magic to compel someone to do something- which is not the same as conducting a contract for something magical. A contract, by definition in a universe where the Jagdsprinz exists, is something that can be broken. There are _consequences,_ but they can be broken. Killing a King; though it matters not if you use magic to do the deed or not, in that case. And I feel quite certain that Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor will add demon-summoning to the list.”

“What about blood magic? In fantasy novels, that’s almost always the worst evil you can do.”

“This conversation makes me feel as though I should be concerned about humanity,” Lord Hiruz said. “Absolutely not. Blood magic is the most basic and the only _universal_ form of magic. I _know_ that humans are capable of using it- though it happens quite rarely, and if it is the only sort that they can, I do not know. Blood magic is simply disrupting the life force that imbues your body and connects it to the mind-soul, and using what magic leaks from that damage to do your work. Technically, you do not even have to bleed- only damage yourself, somehow.”

“So it’s only all right do if it’s your _own_ body you’re harming, and not someone else’s-”

“Oh no,” Lord Hiruz cut him off. “If you kill or harm someone else _just_ to exploit their life force- yes, _that_ is a crime. But if you are fighting, there is no reason not to. That is how Lanka Kubera fights; and how the Hunt operates.”

_“What-”_

“That is what it is to be in the Hunt, Nicodemo Agresta,” Lord Hiruz told him. “It is to chase the Hunted down and damage them, to get them to leak their life force so the Hunt can latch onto them and attack them on both fronts, on their body and on their connection to it, so they die; and so that we can add their power to the power of the Jagdsprinz and the Hunt. We do not Hunt but to kill, and each kill makes us stronger.”     

Lord Hiruz _looked_ at him; not quite a stare, but close.

“The Jagdsprinz _did_ warn you that you might regret joining, Nicodemo Agresta. The Hunt is a tool of punishment, and vengeance, and justice; and we do not shy in our methods.”

* * *

Nia had secured the land around the Route du Grand-Saint-Bernard, near the Dranse River and at the foot of the mountain, for the market. There was a convenient tunnel the highway went through that marketgoers could walk over.

The original plan had called for it to be a local affair on the part of humanity. But Cassiel Navin, of course, wanted an explanation for why the Hunt was looking for Navin Technologies’ magic-dampening techniques, so Nia told him about the market, and then Cassiel declared that his company was coming and would be selling.

Things snowballed from there- the Hunt managed to keep it to mostly regional and local vendors, mostly artists and craftspeople, but larger companies like Navin Technologies did get spots; and of course the Honalenier merchants were invited from all over Honalee, so the other Kings heard about the Dranse Market, as it was advertised, and soon it seemed that every tourist was planning on passing through the event, every King was planning on putting on an appearance, and most Nations were going to come evaluate the event for their governments, besides seizing it as another opportunity to socialize without interference or supervision.

Diana was given the job of supervising the people on loan from the banks, Swiss and Honalenier, who were serving the Market as money-changers.

It had taken some time to finally set an exchange rate; and it came hand-in-hand with a currency reform. Nia was sufficiently upset enough by the Honalenier money to have commandeered every denomination in every system and spend a morning weighing them all and taking notes. That afternoon she walked around and polled people at random, Jäger and merchants and workers down in Nysa, about how they felt about the new balance. Everyone but the Tylwyth felt that they were losing money, since the Tylwyth gold coin weighed so much less than all the others, but they were quick to reassure the Jagdsprinz that they would deal in good faith and accept this in exchange for having someone in the position again.

This just made Nia even _more_ upset, and the next morning she strode into breakfast, papers in hand, and announced that if Honalee was determined to give her the power over their currency then she _was_ going to exercise it, and that within two years from the last day of the Dranse Market all the gold coins had to weigh ten grams- not twenty, not eight, not four- and that people _would_ lose money if they hadn’t changed over, because after that day all gold coins would be treated as _though_ they were ten grams, whether they were or not.

“There _will_ be a gold standard so this doesn’t happen again!” Nia declared. “If they’d all just weighed the same in the _first_ place-”

“Do we continue on as we have been in the meantime, Jagdsprinz?” Zorya asked. “Because if you mean to open Nysa, then pulling the gold coins to restrike them will disrupt trade.”

“I was told that once the Jägerskov and the Hunt had their own money,” Nia said. “And _that_ will be what is used in Nysa when it opens. We have gold enough from Fáfnir’s hoard and what we’ll collect at the Dranse Market to melt down to strike coins, which will be to the new standard, and we’ll trade off-weights for our coins and then ship what he collect back to the appropriate authorities to be re-struck.”

“And how will we collect gold at the Dranse Market?” Adalram wanted to know.

Nia smiled.

“How long do you think Thálassians will hold onto their two-times-too-big gold coins after they hear that they’ll be obsolete in two years when _we_ will be trading gold at worth its weight in Swiss francs for the Market?”

Twenty grams was how much the gold Thálassian bezant weighed, and that much gold was about 800 Swiss francs. Diana had been worried about how they’d provide that sort of money until Switzerland had turned up with some bankers and appraisers and Nia had brought her and Lucien along to discuss selling various pieces of the treasure for cash. The bankers and appraisers had seemed quite intimidated by sheer amount of physical wealth on display, and even Switzerland had looked impressed as estimates came in.

They would have no problems after all, except for possibly providing security for that much cash and figuring out the best way to convey to the Honalenier how much Swiss francs were worth. They _would_ trade their money for francs to shop at the market- gold by weight and the other coins by their already-established fractions of that coin- but they wanted people to be _happy_ about it.

And now it was Market day, and the Honalenier were trading their coins and the tourists and foreigner shoppers were getting their currencies exchanged at the rates for the day, and everything seemed to be going smoothly.

“Ah-”

One of the people on loan from a Swiss bank was trying to get her attention.

“Ma’am? Uh-”

One of the woman’s coworkers, a Honalenier from Kūnlún, leaned over to say something to her, quietly.

“Jager Agresta?” the woman asked nervously, eyeing her knife and sidearm.

Those had been surprises from Nia that morning. There had been a week-long almost-argument between Nia and the Honalenier Jäger about the appropriateness of going armed with swords and various other implements to provide security to the Market alongside the much less intimidatingly-accoutered Valais Gendarmerie. The Honalenier didn’t want to give up their traditional weapons, and Nia didn’t want the Hunt to walk around looking like they were waiting to chop someone’s head off, and she and Switzerland had to stage a minor intervention and pointed out that the Hunt _was_ expected to look a _little_ intimidating, and that they _were,_ in fact, a military force. So the Jäger were to have swords and other such weapons on the appropriate saddle attachments, and not on their persons.

And then, over today’s breakfast, Nia had presented everyone but Ly Erg with a steel knife- the Tylwyth prince got one done in bronze- and a handgun for the left and right sides of their belts. The gun hadn’t been anything special, besides being a quality Swiss piece Marcell had been quite happy about; but the knife lived up to Honalenier standards of craftsmanship, eight inches of bright, sharp blade and a black wood hilt that flared out to the width of the blade at its base rather than adding a crossguard. The pommel was another flare at the other end, topped with an almost-flat red stone with the Hunt’s stag head engraved in it. The stone was set to the hilt with some metal plated with gold, the grip was wrapped in red-dyed leather that left some of the wood visible, and the not-crossguard was again the gold-plated metal, with a custom anagram engraved onto the front. The sheath was much plainer, but gold braid was stitched around the top and hung tassled down the side.  

They were beautiful, and meant to be noticed and act as a deterrent; but more than that, they were a compromise between human and Honalenier sensibilities.

Diana approved.

“Yes?” she asked the bank woman.

“It’s just- uh, I was thinking,” she said. “And it’s just a suggestion, I don’t know how you do your jobs-”

“What is it, ah-”

“Lilou, Jager Agresta, Lilou Descoteaux, and I just wanted to say that this would be easier if you were doing this through a bank, where you could change coins for credit and move automatically between currencies and keep accounts for Honaleen- Honalenier that change their large coins for francs so that they wouldn’t have to carry it around in so much cash.”

“We’d have to find a bank willing to take deposits in both currencies.”

“Your government does have one?” Lilou asked. “Only it seemed like there were quite a few Honalenier banks, royal and civil. Couldn’t your Prince order yours to make accommodations? I was told he was the reason that everyone is so eager to change their gold coins, because he ordered a currency reform.”  

 _Could_ Nia open a bank, as Jagdsprinz or as King of the Jägerskov?

Probably, Diana decided. It seemed like she was allowed to do just about everything else.

“We haven’t got one,” Diana told her. “But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start one, especially since we’re going to be designing coins for minting soon.”

“Oh wow,” Lilou said. “You’re redoing everything from the ground up?”

“ _Starting_ from the ground up,” Diana said, looking around for Nia. Radios, that was another thing they should get. Time enough for it before Nysa was ready to open. “Things had five hundred years to fall apart- they might as well have never existed, at this point.”

“Oh,” Lilou said faintly, clearly astounded by the time lapse; and Diana spotted Nia dropping in.

“Ni- Jagdsprinz!” she called, and then convinced Lilou to tell Nia about her idea, and Nia was interested and started asking questions from the other money-changers about banks and how they worked, both on Earth and in Honalee, and then Diana got sent out to find Switzerland.

She had to spend some time riding around the Market- it seemed rather less like a market and much more like some sort of expo, with the amount of space it took up and all the people coming to curiously examine what the other world had to offer and the proliferation of entertainers and food vendors- but after passing some other Jäger on patrol she found him seated in a clear patch of grass with England and a teenage girl and Nico and Romano, all of them talking quietly.

“Herr Schweiz _,_ ” she said, interrupting. “The Jagdsprinz wants to talk to you. She’s with the money-changers. One of them suggested that the next time something like this happens it gets run through a bank, and it seemed like a good idea, and now she’s asking everyone how banks work.”

“Is she going to _open_ one?” England asked.

“She might,” Diana told him. “I don’t know how they work, but she’s gotten more comfortable with her authority in the last month or so; so if it seems like it could be manageable and that it would be a good idea...”

“It would be _convenient_ to have our own bank,” Nico said. “It’s better than having to go up to Geneva whenever we need to handle something.”

Switzerland was frowning to himself, looking like he was thinking about banks and the Hunt, and Diana heard him mutter: _“and we haven’t decided what will happen with the banking laws in the treaty”_ to himself.

He stood up abruptly.

“I’d best go talk to her then,” he said, and started to walk off.

Diana figured she should go with him, but spent a moment to speak with her husband first.

“Did you get to talk to your cousin?”

“Cass wasn’t helpful at all, but I think Øystein and Cauac would enjoy each other’s company,” he said. “At the least they could exchange information about using magic in technology and industry. This is a much more helpful conversation.”

“That’s good,” Diana said, and turned her horse around to follow Switzerland. “I’ll see you for-”

“Hey,” Nico interrupted, thinking of something. “Tell Nia to ask Switzerland about the forcefield thing he invented. I think it would be useful.”

“I will.”

Once she’d gone, England went back to talking.

“No, I don’t know _why_ it works,” he continued, a little irritably. “I just know it _does._ I’m using spells and rituals out of old books, from when humans actually thought they could _do_ magic.”

“But none of the Honalenier have said anything about rituals working,” Nico said, checking the small black leather notebook he’d bought to compile his notes on magic in just to make sure. “And none of them seem to think that it’s necessary. The closest is what happened with Kêr-Is, but I’m pretty sure that’s just because the Sorcerer-Queen needed a _lot_ of magic to make it work.”

“Well that’s _Honalee,_ ” England said. “They don’t do things our way.”

“So what _is_ our way, then?”

“Folk magic,” his father said grumpily. “I _told_ you all about it growing up; I don’t know why you keep acting like I _didn’t._ ”

“So that actually works?”

“It’s always worked for _me._ Not very much for anyone else, unless they were fey like Lana. Every once in a while, a plain human would get it to work.”

“And I don’t do that much, but it’s been the same for me,” England told him.

 “Okay,” Nico said writing that down. “But why do they both work? Italian and English folk magic probably aren’t anything like each other, right? And if plain humans can only get it to work every so often, and they can’t do magic at all, why does it ever work in the _first_ place?”

“I have an idea,” Eglantine said. “You were saying that with Caris-”

“Kêr-Is.”

“-Kêr-Is, that it was set up to be like a really big magic collector, but usually Honalenier don’t use any physical components to their spells at all. But folk magic uses physical components a lot, right, so what if it’s the same idea?”

Romano made a thoughtful noise.

“You’re saying that the folk magic spells are just little collectors of magic, and if they get enough, then the spell works?”

Lana shrugged.

“Well you’d have to test it,” she said.

“It _sounds_ like it makes sense,” Nico said. “But that still doesn’t answer _why_ different folk magics will work at the same success rate. If the spell for bringing good luck is different between traditions and even if there are variations _within_ the same tradition, and we’re going to assume that the spells are just collecting magic that’s hanging around not being used-”

He stopped abruptly to write something down.

“-I don’t even know if that’s how magic _works_ I need to ask someone about that- then shouldn’t only _one_ of those spells work? The one with the right components?”

“I have an idea about that too, actually,” Lana told him. She sounded a little embarrassed about it.

Her grandfather stared at her incredulously.

“When did you get so theoretical about all of this?” he asked.

“Well _getting kidnapped by fairies_ was a good start,” she retorted. “But mostly it was, um- it was when Mr. Navin asked me about how to get to Honalee. Only he didn’t ask me _that_ because he didn’t know it _existed,_ he just thought that he needed to figure out how to prove that souls existed so he could answer whether or not Germany was still around, and I’d kind of noticed beforehand how magic worked best when you were using it how you _thought_ it should work, and I knew that how people thought magical things should work is how the culture they grew up in _talked_ about magic; so actually I think that folk magic works because people _think_ that’s how it should work and when you’re putting the spell together it doesn’t matter _what_ you do it with so long as it makes sense to you and the magic- um, I guess the magic just _reacts_ to that?”

“I’m… not sure magic can do something like that,” Nico said, blinking. “I’d have to ask. But I’m not sure how _feasible_ that is. Logically, I mean.”

“It’s _magic,_ ” England said. “Not _science._ ”

“ _Cassiel_ passed off magic as science for _four years_ to the _entire fucking planet,_ ” Romano countered. “I’m pretty _damn_ sure that magic counts as science. Maybe its _own_ science, but _science._ ”

“Science isn’t _subjective-!_ ”

“I think maybe people would disagree with you on that, Grandfather,” Lana told him. “I mean, there’s sociology, and economics-”

“And where does it say that folk magic working because of subjectivity and symbolism and how you think _isn’t_ the rule, huh?” Romano demanded.

Nico sighed, noted down what they’d been thinking, and muttered to himself that he’d: _“thought this was going to be **simple.** ”_

* * *

The Dranse Market had gone _very_ well for everyone involved, but especially the Hunt.

Actually, it was _surprising_ how well it had turned out for the Hunt. No one had been expecting banking to come up, but it had, and now it was being talked about. It turned out that starting a bank would be both more and less complicated than they had expected it to be- less complicated, because they didn’t have to answer to any federal agency since, technically, they were their _own_ authority; but more complicated because there were things like hiring a board of directors who knew something about banking and money and could plan how to run and operate such a thing and raise the starting capital and other such things that Nico had tried and failed to comprehend.

On the upside, the Swiss banking community was, as a whole, concerned with what the treaty to form the United Republic of the German Lands would say about the laws they’d been operating under, and so Switzerland was able to poach, on Nia’s behalf, some people to do all the things that needed to be done when thinking about setting up a bank.

Nia hired Lilou Descoteaux on the merits that she had been the one to come up with the idea in the first place and that she was experienced in community banking, which was the nearest thing to what she wanted set up. Switzerland’s expensive bank poaches could worry about things like investments and exchange rates and the economic theory behind them. Lilou was on board to explain things in simple terms, set up the standard savings and spending account side of it all- and to help Nia with the mint.

While economics was going on behind the scenes; construction was happening out where everyone could see it. Now that the Hunt had money and the Market had concluded, professional contractors, human and Honalenier, were hired to deal with carefully taking apart the ruined Jagdshall, scavenging as much as possible.

 And, also because of the Market, the Hunt now had _recruits._

By and large, they were human. Mostly they were Honalenier humans- kidnapped so far back in history that they no longer remembered their original names or people or languages, like Odile and her sister; or the children of the same, some fey, some not. These people, Nia was confident, knew _exactly_ what they would be getting into if they joined the Hunt, and she took them in without trying to dissuade them.

But there were a handful who were from Earth, all of them from Switzerland, and Nia wasn’t about to approve them on the spot.

“Even when I tried to tell you not join,” she said to Nico a few days after they’d shown up, and were still waiting for an answer. “You were still family, and I’m not sure I tried hard enough. And we’ve both learned things about how this works since that we didn’t know then. I _won’t_ just take them.”

The Swiss were told that they had to stay around and help out with the Hunt’s day-to-day work- assisting the contractors working on the Jagdshall with the most basic manual jobs, monitoring Nysa, managing supply with Diana, taking care of the horses and dogs, taking some training with Marcell, and working on adding to the barracks for the new Jäger that _had_ been accepted- to learn about how the job _really_ worked before they would be considered fully-informed. Then, they’d be asked again.

“And I want you all to be _telling_ them about what being in the Hunt means,” Nia told the Honalenier Jäger, human and otherwise. “They didn’t grow up with this, or lived most of their lives with it.”

“I want you talking to them,” she told Nico, Diana, and Marcell later. “You’re in the position they’ll be in if I accept them. So make sure they know what they’re in for.”

Between the construction and the recruits, things were hectic. Nico began a regular correspondence with Lana and Øystein about magic and how it might work, trading ideas and observations. Nico thanked Oystein profusely for sharing Navin Technologies’ magic-dampening field spell, and it saw good use amongst the contractors. The prospective human Jäger got no such protection. Nia deemed it part of the weeding-out process, and some of the prospectives went home.

They were quickly replaced by some young military types. They were sent along to Marcell, and Nia had pointed words with Switzerland the next time he turned up, and then things proceeded as normally as they could. The biggest problems were getting the Earth and Honalenier contractors to operate well together- they used different techniques and different tools at different technology levels, and it didn’t always go smoothly. But with plenty of free- to the contractors- labor around, anything could eventually be worked out.

It took some time for Diana to realize that the Schweizerhaus had, at some point, stopped being quite so much the center of life for the Hunt. The barracks now housed the largest portion of Jäger, and to the prospective members, the Schweizerhaus was just something they passed by on their way to work for the day. Instead, the building where she still lived had turned into a sort of combination of executive and administrative headquarters and the officers’ club, neither of which most of the Jäger needed to bother with. The senior Jäger brought orders from the Schweizerhaus to them- the only time they needed to go down the mountain was to pass on messages to someone already there.

One afternoon in the beginning of September, after the minting equipment had been delivered from Chicomoztoc and set up, one of the prospectives knocked politely on the door to the library where she was in conference with Nia, Lucien, and Lilou to do a final check on starting the mint the next day, opened the door, saluted, and said: “Jager Agresta, Squad Officer Wähner wants to see you at the Mint about a storage concern.”

Diana replied: “I’ll be there a few minutes behind you, Isaak, go tell him so,” and the man went off without comment or hesitance; and suddenly Diana realized that _she_ was a senior member of the Hunt.    

“I think,” Nia said after a moment of gauging her expression. “That it’s time for promotions.”

On the twelfth, three days before the treaty signing that would bring the United Republic of the German Lands into official existence and formally end the German Provisional Government, the Republic of Austria, and the Swiss Confederation, Switzerland arrived at the Schweizerhaus with his sister. He brought a lawyer, a notary, and a banker with him; and asked to see the Jagdsprinz. Diana returned with her to find that Lucien and Lilou had also turned up, and began having a sense of what was going to happen.

Over the course of the next hour, Sebastian Zwingli signed over all of his liquid funds to be used as the core capital for the proposed bank, his remaining real estate to his sister, and everything else he had to the Hunt. He insisted that Nia, as Jagdsprinz, countersign them all to ensure their validity.

“Why?” Diana asked after he’d left, staring at the stack of paper he’d left behind him.

“So I’d owe him,” Nia told her. “That’s always been why he was helping- so I’d owe him.”

“But he’s going to be dead in three days.”

“That doesn’t mean he still hasn’t got things he wants done.”

Three days later, Nia went to the treaty signing with Lord Hiruz and Marcell, and secured the entire mountain and the Dranse Market area as the official extent of her land on Earth. The treaty referred to this land as Martinach, the German form of Martigny, to separate it from the rest of the city.

When she got back from Stuttgart, she called together the thirteen original Jäger- the ten Honalenier who had come and remained for the first call, and Nico, Diana, and Marcell- and promoted them all. The Hunt would now have two Companies, led by a Hauptmann, and seven Squads, led by Offizieren, of six people. Marcell became Hauptmann of the Dragoner Company, the mounted infantry; and Zorya Hauptmann of the Husar Company, the light cavalry. Siegrike, Boreas, and Ly Erg became Offizieren in the Husar Company; and Adalram, Merric, Zvezda, and Cauac Offizieren in the Dragoner Company. Those who didn’t have the red officer’s sash were given one, and everyone was presented with their reserve uniform with the new rank markers- one gold cuff stripe for the Offizieren, and two stripes for the Hauptmänner.

Lord Hiruz was made Marschall of the Hunt, Nia’s official second-in-command, who would stand in for her when and where it was necessary.

That left Dariya, Nico, and Diana.

“You three won’t be attached to any company,” the Jagdsprinz told them. “You will answer directly to me and Lord Hiruz. Dariya-”

She handed the woman Amphitrite Kataiis had personally asked to join the white cardstock box that held her new uniform and sash.

“-you will be a Hauptmann, and assistant for Lord Hiruz and myself. You will run messages, take notes- whatever needs doing.”

“Thank you, Jagdsprinz,” she said quietly.

“Diana.”

The Jagdsprinz gave her own box.

“Congratulations, Quartermaster. You’ve done good work on our supply and finances so far; and I hope you’ll keep doing as good a job from now on. Your new rank is equivalent to Hauptmann, and you will have four assistants just as soon as I accept the prospectives that are still around.”

The last box was her husband’s.

“I need you to keep doing what you’re doing, Nico,” she told him. “We need to know about how magic will work with humans, and whatever information Honalee already has on it. Ten or fifteen years from now, I think we’ll be seeing the first of an upcoming generation of children from human-Honalenier matches, and I want to be ready for it. You won’t have anyone under your command just yet, but I need you to do research and ask around the Jäger and Honalee. Figure out what magic can do and how we can use it.”

“I will,” he promised.

“And so you’ll have the authority you need- your rank will be Zaubhauptmann, equivalent to Hauptmann but keeping your special duties very clear.”

Within a few days the old Jagdshall had been completely taken down. The salvageable material had been easily incorporated into the new barracks expansion, now mostly finished; and what was unsalvageable had been resigned to a scrap heap. The carved wooden columns for the original structure were safely tucked away in the Schweizerhaus for reuse in whatever structure would be made to replace the Jagdshall, the round table the Knights had used was leaning against the wall in the room that had been given over to house the Patrimony and the gifts Nia had been given by the other Kings, and the Jagdsprinz’s throne was tucked away in a corner of Nia’s bedroom for the day when it would have a proper place again.

It was time to celebrate. The wood in the scrap heap was used to make a bonfire. Nia inducted every prospective who had stuck through the whole almost-two-month period to the Hunt, bringing the count of Jäger up to sixty-one: the Jagdsprinz, Arion, 13 officers, and then the rank-and-file. Food and drinks were prepared and shared out, stories were told, songs were song, and a good time was had by all.

At the end of the evening, to mostly-playful complaints, Nia announced that the next project was to build the stables.

* * *

The Nysa market opened the day of the October full moon. The vendors from Martigny and Monthey and Sion and the other, smaller towns near Martinach who had populated the Dranse Market were invited to set up stalls alongside the permanent stores of Nysa, in the large cleared areas where the residential construction hadn’t yet reached. The Hunt was out in their new force to police the crowd, this time largely Honalenier rather than Earth humans. Those Earth humans who did visit were issued charms equipped with the magic-sense dampening spell on them when they went to the newly-opened Bank of Martinach to exchange their currency for the Wild Hunt’s money, to be returned when they crossed back over into Martigny. Once evening fell there was the music and dancing that had marked the changing of months in Nysa so long ago, in the time before the demon. 

“We need to know what you’re going to do with the Teufelhaus,” Diana told her the next day. “I can’t plan finances very well with an eye to the future if I don’t know what you’re going to do with it.”

“I’m still thinking about it,” Nia said.

“Well, think about it _faster._ ”

A week later, Nia went on a trip to Navin Technologies to discuss the logistics of the space they wanted to buy in Nysa, and the hiring of Honalenier to expand their Research and Development department and work magic with the engineers.

She returned utterly furious, with a baby.

 _“Cassiel and Serafina DiAngeli!”_ she yelled once Nico and Dariya had coaxed her upstairs. “Of _all_ the _self-centered, unobservant, **arrogant-** ”_

“I think we might want Diana for this,” Nico told Dariya quietly as Nia kept on about the infants’ parents’ character flaws that made them completely unsuitable to have had a child, together or singularly.

“I think you’re probably right,” Dariya agreed, and slipped out to go get her.

Diana’s arrival finally got some answers out of Nia.

“He was just _blithely **certain**_ that everything would sort itself out!” Nia vented at them while they changed the baby’s diaper and hunted down some of Vasco’s outgrown clothes so they could wash the ones he’d been wearing. That clearly hadn’t been done in a while. Nico ended up with the baby and the bottle while Diana quickly started disposing of the diaper and getting more of Vasco’s old clothes. “He hadn’t bought any baby formula! He was feeding him whatever he happened to be having at the time! He wasn’t paying attention when he cried, he was changing him whenever he remembered too, which was _far_ too little, he just had him _lying there on the **floor-** ”_

“And what about his mother?” Diana asked.

“ _Serafina DiAngeli_ got pregnant for _fun,_ ” Nia spat. “And then just _left_ her son with his father, because _she’s **Pict,**_ and the _Pict_ don’t reproduce sexually; so she decided that everything after this until he was grown was _Cassiel’s_ responsibility!”

“And so you just took him?”

_“I wasn’t going to **leave him there!** ”_

“I’m not saying I wanted you to,” Diana told her soothingly. “I just want to know if anyone with a modicum of responsibility knows that you have him. You’re supposed to _preventing_ people from kidnapping humans, after all.”

“I might have yelled what I was doing at Ásdís on my way out,” Nia said, still fuming.

“Are you going to keep him?” Nico asked.

“Why would I take him if I _wasn’t_ going to keep him?”

“Well, I didn’t know you were such an expert on childcare, is all,” Nico told her.

“I don’t have to be an _expert,_ ” she said. “ _I_ have common sense, and a sense of _duty,_ and you and Diana to ask if I have questions. That’s as much as _my_ father had when someone left Zell at his door, and I’ll manage just as well as he did.”

“I’m glad you have a plan,” Diana said, and started mentally planning how they were going to work this with the Hunt’s schedule and Nia’s position and the extra supplies she’d have to get. Odile had helped look after Vasco, and she’d probably be happy to again, but in three months _she_ was going to have a newborn of her own.

“And anyway,” Nia continued, a little calmer. “I promised King Andvari that I would have an heir.”

“I think he meant that he wanted you to have a kid,” Nico pointed out, remembering the bottle. “Or for some woman you get involved with to.”

“That’s not what he _said,_ though,” Nia insisted. “He will be my son just as much as Zell is my sister.”

“Did Cassiel at least _name_ the kid?” he asked as the infant started to refuse the bottle. “And how old is he?”

“Cassiel named him Ariel, but we should probably use the shortening. Arik. And he was born the first of the month.”

“He’s barely three days old! He should still be at the hospital!”

“ _Your_ son wasn’t in the hospital when he was that old.”

Ásdís showed up two days later with all the official paperwork for Nia to sign to be made Arik’s legal guardian. Neither Serafina or Cassiel had actually filled out a birth certificate, so she brought that, too. Nia filled in his name as _‘Arik Beilschmidt’_ ; and so the newest Hunt family member came to Martinach.

* * *

The only good things about Christmas were that they learned that Zell and Rémy were having another baby; Arik’s new aunts and uncles were surprised but not unhappy to meet him; and that Nico got to be there to see his cousin’s expression when Nia told Heinrich that she’d been given the Rhinegold.

Otherwise, it was loud and graphic proof that Nia, Gilbert, and Feliciano could no longer tolerate being in each other’s vicinity outside of a strictly-business occasion; where etiquette and politics required them to possess some level of basic human decency when interacting.

* * *

Some months later, on a day off in April on a nice morning where Diana, Nico, Odile, and Nia were sitting in a sunny spot on the grass of the Schweizerhaus’ back lawn, supervising Vasco’s new outdoor explorations and keeping an eye on Arik and Odile’s two-month-old Odette, Dariya came cantering down the mountain on her horse.

“Jagdsprinz,” she said, pulling up to a stop in front of the blanket where they were sitting. “New volunteers- lots of them. Honalenier. They come with a gift.”

“I don’t really _need_ more gifts,” Nia said, standing. “But if they want to bring me more money, I suppose I’ll take-”

The first volunteers rode into view and she stopped cold. Between the horses was slung the skull of the demon Mephistopheles, scoured of flesh, cleaned, and polished. Behind them, carried by more volunteers, rose the demon’s wings, still feathered, straightened and cleaned and brushed and perfectly preserved.

One of the volunteers came to the front and bowed to Nia from the saddle.

“We bring you your battle trophies, Jagdsprinz,” she said. “And our swords. We regret the time we took to arrive, and the doubt we harbored after your victory that your other history would leave you wanting. You have taken to your power and your authority in an exemplary manner, and none can now say otherwise. So- we have come.”

“Well,” Nia said, after a long moment of looking the mass of Honalenier volunteers over. “It’s about time you got back.”

Nico had to go looking for her, the next day. There were questions to be answered about how to fit so many new people into the Hunt- who and what would have to expand, would new officers be appointed, should _this_ addition to the barracks actually be larger than they needed at the moment in anticipation of more members, where should they start to clear the forest to provide the room they needed to for the additions-

But no one had seen her.

She wasn’t in the Schweizerhaus, and she wasn’t at the finished stables or with the horses in the makeshift pen that would serve to contain them until _those_ could be expanded as well. She wasn’t at the barracks, overseeing construction. She wasn’t in Nysa, she hadn’t gone on patrol, and no one had heard of her going into Martigny.

Finally, he spotted Dariya, speaking to Marcell and Zorya.

“The Jagdsprinz is in the Teufelhaus,” she told him.

It had been more than a year since Nico had set foot in the building- after Marcell had shown up and the interior had been finished being mapped and inventoried, there had been too much else that needed doing; and the plans to sell off the furnishings and other objects had been dropped once King Andvari had shown up with his unexpected gift.

Without Nia’s decision about what to do with the building, no one had had reason to go in it. They’d been working around it, using the stone walls as material in the barracks- the entire first floor of the original building was made of one of the sides of the square they made, and another side was being plundered for the additions to expand it out and up.

He found Nia immediately upon walking in the door. The door under the stairs was open, and she was in the small room beyond it, staring at the mahogany grandfather clock. The pendulum and gears were brass, and visible from the glass front of the box; and the face was ivory-backed with brass decorations, hands, and roman numerals. It stood silent.  

“They gave me Mephistopheles’ head and wings as a trophy,” Nia said after some minutes of standing together in quiet. “But this house is as much a trophy as those- maybe even more so. I’ve decided I won’t tear the whole building down. I’m going to change it. I don’t know just how much, yet, but I will. _This_ will be the new Jagdshall.”

“What are you going to do with this?” Nico asked, inclining his head towards the clock.

“Boreas,” she said; and for a moment he was confused, but then the Husar Offizier appeared in his peripheral vision and he turned. Out in the hallway were the rest of the officers, sans Lord Hiruz. “Help me move this.”

She and Boreas tipped the clock carefully lengthwise and carried up the stairs, the others following. Nia led them right down the hallway to a door, then through the room to a hidden set of steep stairs, and up to a heavy door at the top. She had to put her end of the clock down to shove it open; and once they were inside, she instructed Boreas in where she wanted it placed.

Nico looked around the room. It was much larger than he’d expected it to be, complete with a full kitchen, an entire row of beds, a large, heavy wooden table, some chairs- even, once he went exploring a little, a multi-person bathroom.

Nia set the clock to the right time and started winding it up.

“This house has seen enough evil over the centuries,” she told her officers. “It’s about time that someone does something _good_ with it.”

There was an audible _click_ as the springs reached tension.

“A thousand years from now, two thousand,” the Jagdsprinz said, stepping away from the clock. “Twice and four times as long as the demon lived here and then time beyond that; I hope we are still here. Doing our duty.”

 _Tick-tock; tick-tock; tick-tock;_ went the clock.


	2. Arik

Arik’s first memory is thinking he is dreaming.

He is looking in the mirror in his room, and he does not look like himself. His eyes are black-grey, not a deep red so dark it seems brown; and his hair is not the dust-colored ash brown that makes him look like an Oread’s fey-child, but off-white and ruddy brown.

He does not look like himself because he looks like Cerrig, his favorite of the Hunt’s Hounds. He had been petting Cerrig, that much he remembers from the time before when he must have fallen asleep. He doesn’t know why he should be dreaming that he looks like Cerrig, but there were worse and stranger things that could happen in sleep than this.

“Arik!” he heard his _Elti_ call, and she sounded like she was going to come in the door any moment. He waited patiently for the door to open.

“Arik?” his _Elti_ said again. “Where are you?”

 _‘I’m right here!’_ Arik tried to say, thinking his _Elti_ was being silly; but instead all he could manage were a few yips.

His _Elti_ frowned a little, and swept her eyes over the room.

No, no, no, _no-_ he looked like Cerrig and his _Elti_ couldn’t **_recognize_** _him-_

 _‘Elti! Elti!’_ came out as two short barks.

Arik did not know how he’d come to look like Cerrig but he doesn’t _want_ to look like Cerrig; he wants to look like _Arik;_ and he doesn’t realize that his crying has translated into a string of whines and screechy, pained half-howls until his _Elti_ looked straight at him and said: “Arik.”

And then Arik realized he was not dreaming.

His _Elti_ dropped to her knees and it was good, it was very good that she could still recognize him; but it was not as strong as the terror because he didn’t know how to change _back_ and he _knew_ magic, he had lived around magic all his life, and this was _not_ how it worked; you _could not_ just _accidentally_ change into something else unless you were born for it and Arik was not. His _Elti_ was not a huldra or a selkie.

“Arik, Arik; _schattchen-_ calm down. Calm down.”

Arik returned to being Arik in his _Elti_ ’s arms, still crying.

“I- I-” he tried to say; tried to explain.

Cerrig nudged him with his nose, checking him over and wagging his tail, trying to be friendly and distracting to stop his crying.

“It’s all right, _schattchen_ ,” his _Elti_ told him.

It was _not_ all right, because-

“I was _possessing_ him!” Arik cried. “I- I don’t know what _happened_ but I _possessed_ him that’s _bad_ that’s _wrong_ that’s what _demons-_ ”

“You are not a demon,” his _Elti_ said. “I _know_ demons. And you weren’t trying to hurt him. It was an accident; so from now on you will just have to learn better, so you only do it when you mean to.”

And so Arik knew it _was_ actually going to be all right, because his _Elti_ was the Jagdsprinz; and if the Jagdsprinz said he had done nothing wrong, then it was true.

* * *

Martinach was the _best._

Arik loved it the most of anywhere in the world, and he _knew_ that there was a lot more to it all than Martinach- but why did that matter? _How_ could that matter, when someplace like Martinach existed?

It was a place where you could end up in two different worlds by walking the same path. It was an enchanted forest where the huldrene could melt out of a tree or a bush or a flower or a patch of grass or a tangle of underbrush as a forest animal, and then to a human form and hold a conversation with you about anything they cared to. It was a place where the Oreads could come up out of the stone to show you an interesting piece of rock or a bit of a gemstone, or describe underground streams that ran bitingly cold and mineral-rich, and tell you about the caverns and caves and crevasses that no one else could get to without a mining operation. It was a place where the fog spirits could lead around in a game of hide-and-seek or tag for _hours,_ or race their captured and hobbled unicorns across the rock-and-scrub wastes, and make lights dance in the morning mist.

It was the home of the Hunt, where they worked and ate and slept and conducted their business. The Jagdshall was two-and-a-half stories of magnificence that had been under construction for as long as he’d been alive and didn’t look like it would be finished anytime soon; but that just made it lively with the work crews and the noise and the Jäger crossing back and forth on the grounds, weaving around the construction as they brought messages or executed their tasks for the day or went down to Nysa or Sebastianhaus or Sankt Michelmarc’s for mass or Martigny or the top of Dranse Park where the horses were stabled and pastured.   

It was home, and it was family; but every so often, he kind of wished he could make some of the people go away.

“Of _course_ we’re going to get married,” Odette told him, pulling her feet out of the Dranse tributary stream they were sitting by.

School had been out for the summer only a few days, and the weather was beautiful. They were lying on the grass in the Dranse Park, the great cleared grassy area on the side of the mountain that, in a month or so, would be hosting the Dranse Summer Market. Right now there was only a farmer’s market on the far side of the Park, on the banks of the Dranse on the other side of the Route du Grand-Saint-Bernard. The traffic whizzed by, faintly, on Saint-Bernard; and occasionally noise drifted over from Route du Chateau, which formed the Park’s northern boundary, or from the horses in the Hunt’s fenced-in pastures and stables on the mountain-end.

“Your _Elti_ is a prince, and Father is a prince,” Odette continued. “We’ll _have_ to get married. We’re the only ones of same rank and we’re growing up together. It wouldn’t make much sense to have me marry some minor freeholding Lord from some forgotten valley of the Hills when _you’re_ around.”

“Vasco and Benigno’s father is a prince too,” Arik said, shifting to get more comfortable on the well-tended grass. “And Ulrik has a prince _and_ a princess for parents. And we’re growing up with them too.”

Odette sniffed.

“But _they’re_ not Honalenier.”

“We’re every bit as Honalenier as you!” Vasco said indignantly, and slung a stone at her. Odette waved a hand at it and it flew off at an angle, far away from them.

“ _You_ don’t count,” Odette informed him primly. “ _Your_ father is only a prince because _his_ fathers were Nations. All it means is that you have to be nice to him if he’s at a Court. It doesn’t mean he has any _power_.”

“But _Papà_ is the best sorcerer on the planet!” Benigno said.

“ _Cassiel Navin_ is the best sorcerer on the planet. And Øystein Brynjarsson and János Héderváry work for him; and _your_ father doesn’t.”

“But Liesl says that the Jagdsprinz doesn’t trust Cassiel Navin,” Ulrik told her. “And if she doesn’t trust him, I don’t see how he can be the _best._ ”

“He was the first one to _do_ anything with magic on Earth!” Odette said. “If the other three were that good, _they_ would have done something too!”

“But _Signor_ Agresta is a _Jager_ ,” Arik countered. “Are you saying the Hunt doesn’t get the best?”

“He _could_ be in the Hunt if he _wanted_ to.”

“ _Elti_ would never take him.”

“Odette,” Ulrik said. “Arik doesn’t get anything out of his _Elti_ being Jagdsprinz any more than Vasco and Benigno do being _Signor_ Agresta’s sons. _I’m_ the only one who’s going to inherit anything.”

“ _I’m_ going to inherit too!” Odette exclaimed angrily. “When Grandmother dies Father will be King; and _I’ll_ be Queen of the Tylwyth Teg after him!”

“Yeah, but your grandmother’s been alive for like, longer than humanity has had _cities;_ and she’s not dead yet,” Ulrik said. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to die before _she_ does.”

“I’m Tylwyth too!”

“But your mother is human.”

“Only as human as _Signora_ Agresta or any of the others who joined the Hunt!”

“So we’re as Honalenier as you then!” Vasco said. “You admit it!”

“Arik could _so_ be Jagdsprinz after his _Elti,_ ” Odette insisted, ignoring him. “There’s nothing that says he _couldn’t_ be.”

“I don’t _want_ to be Jagdsprinz.”

The others stared at him.

“You _don’t_ want to be _Jagdsprinz?_ ” Benigno asked disbelievingly. “But it’s the _best_ job!”

“You’d be in charge of _everything!_ ” Vasco told him.

“I’d be Prince of Liechtenstein _and_ King of Denmark; and even _I’d_ have to listen to you,” Ulrik said; then conscientiously added: “Well, _Mutti_ and _Far_ say that would be bad politics, so I’d have to pretend not to be. But I _would._ ”

“But you keep saying how you _want_ to be in the Hunt,” Odette said.

“I _do_ want to be in the Hunt,” Arik said. “That’s all I ever wanted to do. But if _I’m_ Jagdsprinz, then that means _Elti_ ’s dead. And I’d rather die being a Jager and protecting her than be Jagdsprinz after her.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t want to talk about people dying,” Vasco said, voice very small.

“Well, we’re the only ones who will inherit positions,” Ulrik said to Odette. “And I don’t _care_ if it makes sense because we’re both royalty and we both grew up together- _Mutti_ and _Far_ got married because they loved each other. And I’m not getting married unless I love somebody.”

“And I’m not getting married at _all,_ ” Arik told her. “So go find somebody else to bother about it.”

* * *

School was easy, even with always having to be around Vasco and Benigno and Odette. Ulrik didn’t go to their school because he lived in Vaduz and was getting his education there; but Liesl brought him over every weekend because Reigning Princess Anja wanted him to have as much first-hand experience with the Hunt and Honalee as he could.

How exactly this was accomplished by Ulrik just hanging out with them on the weekends and staying with them during the summers, Arik didn’t really know.

The weekends could be a little awkward, though, with Ulrik around, because weekends were magic lessons. Odette’s father didn’t really seem to think that she needed them, but her mother had said there was no harm in having her taught about magic in a structured environment, so every Saturday Odette spent three or four hours in a special room in the Barracks with _Signor_ Agresta and Vasco and Benigno, learning.

But Ulrik didn’t have magic. Spending so much time around it had desensitized him to the fear/panic reaction humans had, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hang around and watch three of his friends learn something he could never do.

Arik _should_ have had magic like Vasco and Benigno and Odette and _Signor_ Agresta and his father- and his father had _spades_ of it, so it should have been really _powerful_ magic- but he didn’t.

His was funny.

 _Elti_ said it was because his mother was Pict, so that was throwing everything else off. He had the Pict sort of shape-changing, where he could steal other bodies and- through some unexplained means- keep them ‘inside’ himself to use later. But he didn’t have the Pict white, glutinous default form- human was his default.

His magic, such as it was, glowed the same yellowish-green as the Pict bulb-stock, but so far it had been good for exactly one thing, which was self-healing. He couldn’t seem to stay hurt for more than minute at a time; and usually only a couple seconds if it was something like a paper cut. One time, back when _Signor_ Agresta was still trying to teach him magic, because they didn’t know any better yet, Benigno had accidentally called up fire in his hands, panicked, and tried to banish it but got scared that it would spread across the room instead at _exactly_ the wrong moment.

Half the room had gone up in flames. His father had gotten rid of it all with a gesture, but Arik had caught on fire too.

They’d only burned on him for maybe five or ten seconds, but that had been five or ten seconds of _everything **hurting.**_ Arik hadn’t felt the flames go out, but suddenly there was a moment of numbness and then he felt fine. He’d looked down at himself to see yellowish-green light fading over unburnt and completely healthy skin.

After that _Signor_ Agresta said there was no point in him coming to classes.

So on Saturdays while Vasco and Benigno and Odette were taking class in the Barracks Arik took Ulrik and they went down to Nysa Field together; and Arik practiced shape-changing under Pwffio’s watchful eye.

“You should go to Africa and get a lion or a cheetah,” Ulrik told him.

“Maybe,” Arik said doubtfully. He liked working with animals he knew; and he knew the forest animals of the Jägerskov, the wild birds of Forêt Fama, the Hunt’s horses and Hounds, the domestic dogs and cats of Martigny.

Besides- travel meant he’d have to leave Martinach and the Hunt. He’d have to leave them for a long, long time; and he didn’t want to do that.

But there was one thing that he _could_ get in Martinach that he couldn’t get anywhere else.

“This might not be the best idea, is what I mean,” Ulrik said. “You can get cool animals that might _not_ start to eat your soul when you assimilate them.”

“I will let no such thing happen,” Pwffio told them. The Last Dragon had been happy to end up in charge of Arik’s education, and had encouraged him to take a variety of animals- Arik could be a sparrow, a wolverine, a housecat, a warhorse, one of the Hounds, a mouse, a fly, a hawk, a squirrel, a goat, a sheep, a bull, a frog, a small lizard, and three types of snake- a European Grass Snake, an Asp Viper, and a Boa Constrictor.

He liked being a snake. If he ever _did_ have to go travel to get more animals, he was going to get more snakes.

But today-

“If it starts to eat you, you shall cast it out of yourself, and _I_ will eat it,” Pwffio said. “Unicorns crunch nicely; it will be refreshing.”

Sometimes Pwffio was more interested in excitement than safety. Usually Arik didn’t mind, because exploring was fun, but this was a little worrying.

But if he got it _right_ -

“Near me, Prince Ulrik,” Pwffio ordered, and Ulrik hurried around Pwffio’s outstretched forelegs to wedge himself into the dragon’s side, where he could be protected if things went wrong.

“Ready…”

The dragon’s claws shifted as he prepared to release the captured unicorn from the cage of his front ‘hands’. Arik curled in tighter on himself in the grass.

“Go.”

Pwffio released the unicorn, who was quite unhappy about having been captured so. It started to charge away from the dragon, across the land bridge over Nysa Canyon where it could feel the gathered mass of souls of the Wild Hunt; and Martigny beyond.

Arik, as an Asp Viper, shot up around one of its legs as it went by and let himself sink under the unicorn’s white skin.

Now came the moment when, normally, the two souls now attached to the body started to react to each other. It wasn’t a fight, not really; just the soul of whatever animal he’d decided to take jumping at the new arrival. It was only ever a momentary sensation, because then whatever mechanism allowed the Pict and Arik to steal bodies like this quieted the other soul to ‘sleep’, making it go dormant as Arik’s wrapped itself around the other, preventing any sort of stimuli from getting through to wake it up.

  But unicorns didn’t have souls. Unicorns fed off the life energy and memories and- _everything_ of other beings to survive, stripping away everything until a soul without _anything_ to make it a person had its life energy taken and vacated to wherever souls like that went, leaving a dead body behind. Unicorns did this for centuries until, if they hadn’t been killed, they had survived long enough for all the magic they’d taken and stored inside themselves to condense _into_ a soul, the unicorn gradually gaining sentience and memories and everything that made a person a person as its coat darkened to black.

There was nothing for Arik to quiet, nothing to wrap himself around. There was an empty space where the soul should have been; and he experienced a terrifying moment of something like falling where he was _sure_ the unicorn was eating him-

“Well,” he heard Pwffio say. “That was _quite_ unexpected.”

Arik twisted to look at himself. He had taken a white unicorn; but now the coat and mane were black. If the pattern held, his eyes were dark red now, too, close to his natural color as a human, and his horn was no longer clear but had a faint red tint that matched his eyes.

Ulrik edged out from behind the dragon.

“Wow,” he said. “Do you think-”

“Let the thing go, Arik,” Pwffio told him. “And do explain to us what just happened.”

Arik tried to let the unicorn go- but he couldn’t figure out _how._ It occurred to him, then, that what he usually did was push away from the soul of whatever he’d taken. But all he could feel was himself.

He didn’t _feel_ like he was shape-changed.

So Arik tried imagining himself looking human again, and felt it work.

“I _told_ you to let it go,” Pwffio said sternly.

“I couldn’t,” Arik told him. “There wasn’t anything to let go of. I _was_ the unicorn. I just sort of slipped into the space where there _wasn’t_ anything, when I took it.”

Pwffio leaned his head down and got very, very close.

“How novel,” he said after a moment of examining Arik. “I do think you’ve become the first person to be able to shape- _shift_ into a unicorn. Do it again.”   

* * *

Summer was the worst part of the year.

Summer was when the _cousins_ came.

There were _Tante_ Zell and _Onkle_ Rémy’s Louis and Marlies from New York City; and _Zio_ Heinrich and _Zio_ Adriana’s Luisa, Mosè, and Bertino from Venice; and _Zia_ Ditta and _Theíos_ Nike’s Loni and Ercole from Naples; and _Zia_ Cato and _Shushū_ Zheng’s Fabrizia from Amsterdam; and _Zio_ Cenzo and _Zia_ Lorenza’s Amadea from Milan; and for a little bit _Zia_ Gianna and _Zio_ Santiano’s Emanuele from Rome-

There were so _many_ of them; and the only one Arik really _liked_ was Marlies. And Lana, who also came in the summers- but she wasn’t really family. She just came to talk about magic with _Signor_ Agresta, and helped him teach the lessons and keep Odette and Luisa- who had attended when she was around ever since the day she walked in and started making light dance around the room- under control; because they were terrible together.

At least when everyone’s parentswere there, he could get away from the cousins by sitting and listening to the adults talk. _Signor_ Agresta said the cousins and the aunts and uncles came because _Elti_ still refused to be on speaking terms with Venice, so she never went to the family Christmas party, so all _her_ siblings and cousins had decided they’d come visit her for the Dranse Summer Market, instead.

(Sometimes Arik got a little jealous of Vasco and Benigno for getting to go to the family Christmas party every year. He was twelve, and he’d yet to meet Venice and see what all the fuss was about. But he and _Elti_ got to go to Vaduz to spend Christmas with Liesl and Princess Anja and Prince Andreas and Ulrik instead, in their _castle._ Vasco and Benigno didn’t get to do _that._ )

But once the Market was over, the aunts and uncles went back home and left the cousins behind- except for Emanuele, who always went back to Rome- until it came time to for school again, and Arik couldn’t escape them.

They were _everywhere._

He’d go to Nysa, and there were Fabrizia and Amadea and Loni. In Martigny he’d run into Louis and Zoé Langlais, Louis’ Martinger girlfriend. Ercole and Bertino would be in the Jagdshall, trying to keep to themselves and avoid the magic they didn’t _dislike_ but weren’t really _comfortable_ with, drawing or reading. Odette and Luisa would be wherever Arik had thought of to go to hide from everyone else, talking and complaining and sharing food and magic and news.

Vasco and Benigno would be with Mosé and Ulrik and Marlies. There was never any set place for this, just wherever they felt like being; usually Nysa, or Martigny in the café Zoé’s parents owned, bothering her and Louis. Sometimes people would come and go- Mosé feeling guilty about leaving his severely-introverted twin alone in the Jagdshall and deciding to spend some time to sit with him or Ulrik back to Vaduz for the rare state occasion.

After a week or so Arik would give up trying to avoid everyone else and join this group. He _liked_ Marlies, and he lived with Vasco and Benigno and Ulrik all the time already _anyway,_ and Mosé wasn’t actually _bad,_ just sort of aimless and drifting, like he couldn’t figure out where he was supposed to be or what he was supposed to be doing, and sometimes that got annoying.

Today the group- well, Marlies- had decided to go bother Louis and Zoé. But Fabrizia and Loni and Amadea had decided to change their schedule and come to Martigny instead to spend some money, and had _also_ decided to come have food and bother Louis and Zoé-

Fabrizia was twenty and Loni nineteen to Louis and Amadea’s seventeen. Mosè and Ulrik were fifteen, Vasco and Marlies were about the same age as Arik, and Benigno was the baby of the cousins, at eleven. They took up three tables of a ten-table café, and Fabrizia and Ulrik had to be prevailed upon to pay for everybody under fifteen so the Langlais wouldn’t get too annoyed and kick them out.

It was one thing when it was just the five of them after school on a Friday afternoon and they’d just bought a round of pastries and hot chocolate. It was something entirely else when there were eleven of them in the middle of tourist season taking up a third of the seating and intermittently bothering one of the few waitresses.

It was crowded, and it was loud, and after annoying Louis and Zoé got old the cousins- even Vasco and Benigno!- were talking to each other in Italian, which Arik couldn’t understand.

Marlies didn’t understand Italian either.

“ _Mutti_ tried to teach us,” she told Arik once they’d both slipped out together with Ulrik and Mosè; leaving the cousins to argue in the language they spoke at home and her older brother to make eyes at his girlfriend. “But Louis’ the only one who ever really caught on. Sometimes she and him talk to each other in it; but then me and _Vati_ don’t have any idea what they’re saying.”

“ _Papà_ taught us all German,” Mosè said in the language in question. He was currently in one of his uncertain stages, and was more drifting along with them than participating in the conversation. “Because he wanted us to sing. But Bertino is the only arty one, and he likes drawing. _Nonno_ teaches him things.”

Ulrik sighed.

“Someone will probably _make_ me learn Italian,” he said. “But I know German, and Danish, and English, and French, and Trade Creole already. I don’t _want_ another language.”

“Do you _really_ need to know that many?” Marlies asked, surprised. “ _Mutti_ works for the UN, and _she_ only works in German, Italian, English, and Russian. But she grew up with German and Italian, and she says she’s not very good with the Russian.”

“Well I grew up with German and Danish,” Ulrik told her. “And French and Trade Creole, I guess, since I’m here so much. But _Mutti_ says that Italy is going to be very politically important because of its relations, and if I’m going to keep Liechtenstein relevant while it’s surrounded by a more powerful state, the best course for me to take is to keep the Jagdsprinz _and_ Italy on good terms.”

“I don’t see why Italy is that great,” Arik commented.

“Well _you_ wouldn’t,” Marlies told him.

The corner of Arik’s mouth twisted as he kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk.

“It’s not _my_ fault I’ve never been,” he said.

“ _Mutti_ thinks the Jagdsprinz is going to be a big regional power, at least,” Ulrik said. “Not even _Far_ seems to really agree with her, but he doesn’t really say anything about it. But even if she doesn’t end up that important with human governments, she’s _really_ important to the Honalenier ones. Liechtenstein is the only country that anybody can really say is on good _personal_ terms with any Honalenier governments. And Italy’s the runner-up, because Veneziano is married to Amphitrite Kataiis. But nobody really knows how that’s going to fall out yet, because Polí Thálassas seems to be treating _‘Venice’_ as something different from _‘Italy’_. People _know_ that they could send visitors and envoys overland, or up the Tiber, to talk to the government in Rome, but they stay in the canals and the Lagoon. And the other parts of Italy aren’t really happy about the benefits Venice gets from that.”

“Is it the market?” Arik asked. There had been talk amongst the Hunt’s senior officers for a couple years- always away from his _Elti_ ’s ears- about the potential for something like the Dranse Summer Market in Venice. Nobody knew exactly where to put it since Venice didn’t have a lot of empty space and any crowds drawn to it would be big, at least an appreciable portion of the tourism the city usually saw for Carnivale. But it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, unless Amphitrite made it a priority to pressure, because a market or street festival like that needed the cooperation of the Jagdsprinz to get Honalenier merchants.

And his _Elti_ was not going to give Venice a Honalenier market. The Dranse Summer and Winter Markets were a great revenue-draw for the Hunt and Martigny; and Nysa was something that none of the other Honalenier states had anything like.

If Venice got a market, it would be like giving Amphitrite Kataiis a Nysa. Arik felt like his _Elti_ wouldn’t mind that too much- but she would deny Amphitrite’s _husband_ everything she possibly could.

“Market?” Ulrik asked, confused. “No- I meant the environmental work. Raising the city. And I heard _Mutti_ and Liesl talking about Queen Amphitrite having people talk to the city officials lately about cleaning up the Lagoon and canal water and raising the freshwater tables because it’s bothering her people. Only Queen Amphitrite and the Thálassian mages could do something like that. Science is getting really good, but it’s not _that_ good.”

“And if Venice got _that,_ ” Marlies said, picking up on the politics. “And the rest of the country didn’t, because Queen Amphitrite only cares about Venice, then they’d all be _really_ angry.”

* * *

Arik managed to bring up the conversation over dinner with his _Elti_ by mentioning Ulrik hearing his mother and Nation talking about it rather than framing it in terms of Venice and Polí Thálassas.

“But when Ulrik and Marlies were talking about it,” he said to her. “It sounded like part of the problem was that Queen Amphitrite was talking to the authorities in Venice instead of going to Rome, and I didn’t get it. When _you_ want to do something in Martigny, you talk to the _Président_ here, not go all the way to Stuttgart and ask _there._ It’s not _their_ business what you do with Martigny and I don’t get why it should be _Rome’s_ business what Polí Thálassas does with Venice.”

His _Elti_ looked at him funnily for a moment before explaining.

“The relationship we have with Martigny is special,” she told him. “It was set up when we were new and the VGR didn’t technically _exist_ yet. They had bigger problems than trying to liaise with us when we could fit the entire government in one small room and had an operating budget smaller than that of the city we’d accidentally ended up sharing space with. By the time we were both set up, we got along with the _Président_ and the _Consiel_ too well to handle changing personnel and contacts easily; and Martigny would have complained about the new government getting in their authority. _That_ would have been the real problem, because they were only a few years past the Greater Unification and the old Swiss cantons were still touchy about a strong federalist state.”

“Are they ever _not_ touchy about a strong federalist state?” Arik asked.

“They were even more touchy about it then,” his _Elti_ told him. “And it’s not like _Kanzlerin_ Bastian or _Prezident_ von Preuβen really wanted me coming to Stuttgart regularly, anyway. But Italy wasn’t trying to rebuild when Honalee and Amphitrite Kataiis showed up. The city of Venice doesn’t have any _authority_ to act independently of the government in Rome; and Amphitrite technically shouldn’t even be talking to them. But the link to Earth from Polí Thálassas is in the Venetian Lagoon, and she and Veneziano are _married-_ ”

Arik absently ignored the typical venom his _Elti_ gave that word whenever it was associated with the father she disowned.

“-so that’s where she goes. She doesn’t care about Italy beyond what Italia Veneziano has as his traditional lands- everything else has never been _her_ business and she doesn’t see the need for it to start being her business now. Anything Venice does in conjunction with her without the permission of Rome is technically illegal; but if Venice decides to do anything Rome doesn’t have the power anymore to stop them and they know it. Venice is Veneziano’s city, and there’s _plenty_ he can do to the government if it does anything to keep his city from being improved and protected; and Amphitrite Kataiis can treat the city like an extension of her lands on Earth because she has the Tripartite Treaty to back her if they try to use force to make her stop. Unless she tries to conquer it or blatantly endorses insurrection by providing a rebellion resources, it would be _Italy_ who would be in violation of the treaty and fair game for anyone else to treat how they liked.”

“Oh,” Arik said; and didn’t ask which side his _Elti_ would come down on if Rome started to argue that Queen Amphitrite was providing _‘sufficiently hostile’_ action against them by making Venice more dependent on her help than the authority of the Italian government, or was using her help to influence the residents of the city to think that they’d have a better living under _her_ rule than Rome’s without outright _telling_ them so.

They went back to eating in relative silence.

Dinner had finished and Arik was in his room when his _Elti_ came in and sat down on his bed.

“Are you still unhappy when your cousins come for the summer?” she asked.

Arik couldn’t figure out why they were talking about this.

“Yes?” he said, the question not his surety on the subject but rather her motives.

“Nico’s been saying lately that it’s not good for you to stay here all the time.”

 _No._ No, Martinach was the _best-_

“Your cousins travel at least twice a year, and it’s to a significantly different country at least one of those times. By the time I was your age, I’d been living summers in Venice for years and traveled to more than a few countries in Europe. We’d even gone to America. The furthest you’ve been is Vaduz, for a day, and we travel magically. You already know the people we interact with there, and it’s all in the same language. Otherwise, you’ve barely been outside of Martigny’s city limits, or any further than the World Gate.”

“I _like_ it here!” Arik protested.

“I know what Nico _wants_ to happen out of this,” his _Elti_ continued. “He _wants_ me to send you to Venice. _That’s_ not going to happen. But he’s right in the reasoning that he’s using.  

“I don’t _need-_ ”

His _Elti_ looked at him.

“Martinach and Martigny and the Jägerskov and Nysa aren’t the world, Arik,” she told him. “The rest of Earth and Honalee are a lot bigger than here, and nothing like it. We’re _different;_ and I don’t think you’ve really grasped just how _much_ different life is here. Especially for _you,_ as my son.”

“But I like it _because_ it’s different,” Arik said quietly. “Because it’s so _special._ It’s the best place _anywhere._ ”

 His _Elti_ smiled, the way she did sometimes when she was thinking about Germany, the country or his _Groβvati_ or both. It always looked like she might cry; but he’d never been able to figure out if it was more from the happy things she remembered or the grief of losing them.

She took his head in her hands and leaned them both towards each other so she could kiss his hair.

“If we had a Nation, _schattchen,_ you’d be their favorite, because you’d love them more than anyone,” she told him. “But you need to know how things work everywhere else, so next summer you won’t have to stay here with the cousins. I’ll get you a place to stay somewhere else, with family or a Nation. You could go to your _Prozio_ ’s in Naples, or your _Tante_ ’s in New York. England would take you, or Spain, or Japan. I’d just have to ask anyone else, but I don’t see why they _wouldn’t_ have you, even if you’re just spending two or three weeks a place.”

If Arik couldn’t go to Venice and _finally_ meet his _Elti_ ’s father and see if he really was _that_ bad, then there was really only one other place he could stand leaving Martinach for.

“Could I go to Berlin?” he asked tentatively. He didn’t want his _Elti_ to get mad, but- “You grew up there. And I should probably meet my father, even if he doesn’t care that I exist. And Nico might settle for me with the General instead of me with Veneziano and not bother you about it anymore.”

All of these were strictly true. Learning about technical truths was an important part of persuasion when the other person only had to be looking at you to know if you were lying.

“If you really want to go to Berlin,” his _Elti_ said after a long moment. “It’s not the worst choice.”

* * *

The rest of that summer and the school year fairly flew by, Arik’s mood bolstered with the knowledge that _this_ summer there would be _no cousins._ Instead, he would be in Berlin, living with General Beilschmidt. It wasn’t exactly _easy_ to be enthusiastic about not being in Martinach, but at least in Berlin they still spoke German.

He got to use the train for the first time in his life, and that was kind of exciting, but by the time he got to Berlin-

General Beilschmidt was waiting for him at the train station. Arik had seen pictures every so often, before, but in person it was a lot easier to understand what _Signor_ Agresta and _Tante_ Zell meant when they said that he took after his grandfather in coloring. Their eyes were almost the same color, the General’s brighter than Arik’s; and the tendency of his hair to stay washed-out looking was also genetic, though it was darker than his grandfather’s. He’d have to meet Israel some time to get a better feel for where his facial characteristics came from- people had been saying, now that he was thirteen, that he was growing into a face that would probably be long and thin, with a strong nose and cheekbones.

The nose was probably from the General too, though.

Arik would notice that later, though, because he got off the train dead-eyed and feeling sick, mind fuzzy and blank. He managed to say hello the General and go with him to his apartment, but after that, all he could do was lay in bed, curled around himself under the covers, trying not to cry.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not sick?” the General asked him after a little while.

“It’s _wrong,_ ” Arik told him, voice strained. “ _Everything,_ it’s all _wrong._ The _land_ is dead. There’s not enough _magic,_ not like in Honalee, not like the Jägerskov, not like Martigny- how does anyone _survive?_ ”

The General sat down on the bed with him.

“Nobody else can tell,” he told him. “If they went to Martigny, they’d think there was too _much_ magic.”

“It’s _wrong_ \- no!”

The General had moved to stand up, but Arik had reached out from under the blankets and grabbed him.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “You’re the only thing that feels _right._ ”

He woke up the next morning with the General sleeping next to him on top of the covers, propped up into a sitting position against the back of the fold-out couch Arik had been given, still in his clothes from the day before.

* * *

The visit to Navin Technologies’ headquarters in Berlin was disappointing.

Berlin itself was a little disappointing too- it was still the biggest city Arik had ever seen, and it was busy and still important, but he’d just been expecting something _more_ from it, from how much his _Elti_ loved it. Martinach was a lot smaller, but she had a lot more there than she’d ever had in Berlin. The only thing he could really say the two places had in common was that Berlin also looked like it was in the midst of long-term construction- there were still big undeveloped areas, gone to scruffy grass and trash or torn-up mud where the crews and equipment were working between the big latest-design office buildings and the last of the conventional apartment buildings financed by Navin Technologies’ charity money and the newer, more experimental small green-space communities that the city had decided to replace most of the old destroyed housing with.

Navin Technologies’ headquarters was in the new downtown area, _Neueinnenstadt_. In fact, it looked a lot like _Neueinnenstadt_ had grown up _around_ Navin Technologies’ headquarters. It wouldn’t have been that surprising to learn it had, really, given how much money Arik knew the company had sunk into the city and the VRG.

Arik supposed the lobby of the building was meant to be impressive. It looked expensive in the modern way, all warm wood and polished stone with the marks of green energy and technology all over the place, like the full-glass ceiling that could be automatically opened and shaded to control the temperature and the subtly-obvious solar panels and the proliferation of plants, and pastels interspersed with richer jewel-tones in the furniture and fixtures and interior decorating. But _he_ had grown up in Martinach, in the Jagdshall and Nysa, with Jäger and Honalenier. The _point_ of something being impressive was to show your power, and so it needed to be _obvious_ , not half-hidden away like you were making a point about how much more modest you could be compared to all those _other_ people. If you had power, you made _sure_ people knew. This just seemed dishonest and sneaky, and he wouldn’t have trusted the word of the people in charge here if he meant to do business with them.

Technically, he met his father. But the incident wasn’t worth remembering. If _that_ was what his _Elti_ had taken him from, then he was happy.

The _rest_ of the inner executive board, though, _they_ were interesting. There was Ms. Geirsdottir, who insisted on being called Ms. Ásdís, and was the Executive Vice President of the company to his father’s CEO- which, she told him, meant that she did all the work while Cassiel Navin showed up intermittently and made everyone else’s jobs harder than they needed to be. Her wife Ms. Honda was in charge of Research and Development, with two subordinates for the Industrial- medical and heavy equipment like space ship and satellite parts- and Commercial- cars, home appliances, and the new cyber and communications departments- Divisions. Mr. Brynjarsson was in charge of Human Resources and Public Relations, and Mr. Héderváry did… something.

“Why do you work for them?” Arik asked him after the other adults had said their _‘hello’_ s and gone off to finish their last hour’s work before the dinner at Ms. Ásdís’ house. It was apparently some sort of tradition for the Nations’ children in formerly-Germany to get together every few months for an evening in company and away from work- as much as they could be, anyway, when they’d committed their lives to their jobs. The General had gone to Ms. Ásdís’ office to talk, so he was alone in the conference room with Mr. Héderváry to look after him.

“I got too old to ski,” Mr. Héderváry said. “I wasn’t doing it competitively, not anymore, after the avalanche where I lost my arm. But I made it through regular boring work by going out to the slopes whenever I could. If I hadn’t been in that avalanche-well, I could have kept skiing for years yet. I couldn’t stand the thought of the job I had without something else to do, and then Øystein showed up at my door and asked me to marry him.”

“Wait,” Arik said. “Just- like that? You must be really good friends.”

“Nope,” Mr. Héderváry told him. “Barely met him before in my life. But Navin Technologies needs magic users to keep it going, and they’d figured out _I_ could do it if I wanted. I told him I didn’t know him and I wasn’t going to marry him, but if he wanted to pay for my magical education and hire me once I was done I’d do that. So Navin Technologies put out the money for me to stay in Martigny for a while- I studied with Nico for a year or two, when you were _really_ little, I don’t think any of you kids remember me being there- and then travel in Honalee. I accidentally had a kid in Honalee and realized I liked being a father. So I figured _‘what the hell, it’s probably the only offer I’ll get’_ and came back and married Øystein anyway. He was pretty surprised.”

Arik was not really sure how he felt about that story. It didn’t seem like a good reason to get married to _him,_ but it wasn’t like he thought he’d ever find one good enough for himself, so maybe it wasgood enough for Mr. Héderváry. After all, his _Elti_ ’s parents’ marriage had been based on mutual love and _that_ had fallen apart pretty spectacularly; but _Signor_ Agresta’s parents had gotten married because they’d had the opportunity to and were already in some sort of sexual-but-not-romantic friendship-family _thing_ that _Signor_ Agresta had tried to explain to them when he’d given his sons and Odette and Arik and Ulrik a talk about relationships a couple months ago since everyone was starting puberty, and Romano and Spain were still happy together.  

“So what do you actually _do?_ ” he asked.

The man shrugged.

“Magic,” he said. “Whatever people need me to. It changes. Right now Ásdís wants to know what we can do as far as extraterrestrial colonies go. We can _live_ on all the planets we got in the Tripartite Treaty, but getting people there is a little bit of a problem. And Cassiel’s convinced that we should try to terraform some of the planets in our own system, too, and that the process should only take ten or twenty years. He keeps going on about how the Honalenier can _clearly_ do it, because of Venice and some of the historical events from when the Erlkönig was alive, so he’s _certain_ we can do the same. Problem is, he’s probably right.”

That was a strange thing to say. Space colonization close to home should be a _good_ thing, right?

“How is that a problem?”

“It’s a problem because- look, I know he’s your father, but- Cassiel Navin is an _asshole_ and we’re all waiting for him to run up against something he can’t solve and get his ego finally deflated. But he’s fifty-four next year and it hasn’t happened yet. You wait, this time next year he’ll have a rough idea for some sort of technomancy to terraform Mars, five years from now he’ll have blueprints, and five years from _then_ he’ll have proved it works. By the time you’re thirty, Arik, humanity will have self-sustaining settlements on other planets; and it’ll be because Cass’s favorite thing is space, and he’ll _know_ it’s all because of him.”

Arik thought that would be pretty cool, actually. Maybe, if his _Elti_ made him leave Martinach again, she’d let him go to a colony. Space was a long way away, and the Hunt would need people up there too, right?

* * *

There was a mix-up or a missed step in communication for the dinner, and so when the General and Arik walked into Ms. Ásdís’ large front room, Dietrich Ehren looked up sharply and scowled at him. Arik felt the General stiffen beside him, and there was a moment of tension he was familiar with from home, that of a group who’d accidentally stepped onto a conversational landmine and were waiting to see if it was a dud or not. It happened sometimes when people were talking about Venice or Berlin or Stuttgart and his _Elti_ showed up unexpectedly.

A man stuck his head out of the kitchen.

“Hello, General,” he said. “This is a surprise. You’ve never come before.”

“Arik’s staying with me for the summer, remember?” the General told him. “I thought it would be a good idea for him to meet some people.”

The man turned his attention to Arik.

“Did he take you to see your father?”

“He’s only my father _technically,_ ” Arik said. He wasn’t feeling particularly fond of the man, and the way people had been referring to Cassiel Navin as _‘your father’_ or him as _‘Cass’s son’_ was starting to grate on him.

“Well, you certainly sound like Nia,” he said. “Why don’t you come in here and help Dosia and Roxie and me and the kids cook?”

Arik didn’t really know anything about cooking, but he couldn’t tell if it was an honest offer or a suggestion that was actually an order, so he went to the kitchen.

It was probably a plot to keep the children away from the adults, Arik decided, since the kitchen was holding six minors, including him, and a young woman and man who were probably young college students.

“Everybody, this is Arik Beilschmidt,” he told the kitchen. “Roxie, Christian, what can he do?”

“I don’t know, _Stefar,_ ” the young woman said, smiling playfully. “What _can_ he do?”

The man returned the smile and ruffled her short hair.

“Come on, now, Roxie, I’m going to have to insist on Swedish if you’re not going to use German or Polish.”

Roxie stuck the tip of her tongue out at him.

“Can’t use Swedish in Norway,” she said, minding the frying pan full of vegetables.

“I won’t mind,” the young man said. That must have been Christian. “And this is Arik Beilschmidt, the Jagdsprinz’s son? How’s Ulrik doing, Arik? I haven’t seen him in a couple years.”

 “He was doing okay last time I saw him,” Arik said, trying to figure out how this man could know Ulrik.

The mystery was solved for him when one of the girls, the one who looked younger than him, went: “Ooooh, _two_ princes!”

Two princes?

“Christian _Wilhelm?_ ” Arik asked.

The Crown Prince of Norway nodded.

“We’ve got bread to cut, if you want to do that.”

So Arik got the bread knife and the loaf and the cutting board and went out to the dining room to cut it at the table, since there wasn’t really room in the kitchen with so many people and so much to cook, even if it looked like dinner was mostly done.

Two of the girls and the older boy followed him out and stood between him and the door to the kitchen like they were trying to keep him from escaping.

“You’re _Cassiel Navin’s_ son,” one of the girls said. It sounded like an accusation. “I _heard you._ Did he bring you to take the company?”

“I came because _Elti_ thought I should get out of Martinach,” Arik informed her. “Cassiel Navin barely acknowledges my existence, and even if he _did_ try to get me to take the company I wouldn’t do it. I’m going to join the Hunt.”

The other girl looked keenly interested in that.

“ _I_ like the Hunt,” she said. “It’d be like being a knight. It’d be cool!”

“It sounds _silly,_ ” the other girl said. “Dressing up like historical reenactors and running around waving swords and declaring arbitrary laws because _some_ people still believe in the Divine Right of kings.”

“ _No,_ Akane, it’s _awesome! You’re_ just too scared to have fun! You get to fight evil and be a hero!”

“And what about the _rule of **law,**_ Svana?” Akane demanded. “We have _constitutions_ and _judicial systems_ for a _reason._ The Honalenier can go fawning all over the Jagdsprinz if they like, but it’s gross negligence for anyone _else_ to!”

Arik stood frozen, bread knife in one hand and the food itself unsliced, staring at them.

The boy looked at him, puzzled.

“They’re sisters, they fight like this,” he said. “I used to do it with Árpád before they moved into _Nagyanya_ ’s.”

“Oh, be _quiet,_ Csaba,” Svana said to him.

“But that’s not how-” Arik started to protest. There was so much _wrong_ with what they’d just said- the Hunt wasn’t _like_ that, it was police force and military and it had a _duty,_ an important one, so indispensable that Honalee had fallen half to pieces without it and wouldn’t be fully fixed for decades yet. It wasn’t a band of glorious heroes out of some story, and it wasn’t a gang of armed _thugs_ going around imposing themselves on people.

“That’s _exactly_ how it works,” Akane said. “You only have the word of some woman barely anyone has ever _seen_ that the power works like it’s _said_ to, and she doesn’t have any checks on her power, and the whole thing is just run on _faith_ that nobody’s _lying_ to you.”

“People are _always_ guilty of what the Jagdsprinz says they are; they admit it or other people can attest to it or there’s physical evidence afterwards-”

“You can’t present evidence _after_ a trial! You have to have the evidence _during!_ Otherwise you’re just trying to justify _murder,_ and Honalee just _eats_ it up.”

Arik went cold, all over.

“My _Elti_ is _not_ a murderer,” he said. “Not like how you mean. She _has_ killed, but it’s _legal._ ”

“Not in any _human_ court it doesn’t,”Akane said. “We’re in the Tripartite Treaty separately and with a bunch of conditions about legal jurisdiction for a _reason. You’re_ human, you ought to know better.”

“But I’m _not_ human,” Arik told her. “I’m Honalenier.”

The three children stared at him.

“But of _course_ you’re human,” Csaba said. “Mr. Navin’s human. And the Jagdsprinz is human. Their parents were Nations and it’s hard to get more human than _that._ ”

 _“No,”_ Arik said. “That’s not how it works. I grew up in Martinach, so I’m Martinacher through-and-through, and Martinach is part of the Jagdsprinz’s domains and so I’m Honalenier and not human.”

“But that’s not how it _works!_ ” Akane insisted, her tone a combination of surprise and frustration. “Your genetic _-”_

“If you’re going to argue about _biology,_ ” Arik said, letting his distaste show through. That’s not how this _worked._ “My _biological_ father’s parents were _both_ Nations so _he’s_ full _Seelenkind_ , not _Homo sapiens,_ just like _Elti,_ and my mother was Pict. So I’m half _Seelenkind_ and half-Pict _biologically,_ but that only _matters_ when you have to fill in the forms that ask for where your magic came from.”

_“Humanity is not an ethnic identity!”_

“Of _course_ it is!” Arik half-shouted back, exasperated. “There are human Honalenier and they’re human Honalenier because they lived as _humans_ before they came to Honalee, whether they came by themselves or someone stole them, but _now_ they live as Honalenier; but it’s not like they could just _stop_ ever having had lived as humans! If- if some Honalenier family moved to like, _London,_ and their kids grew up mostly in London, then they’d be Honalenier humans! They’d still have something of Honalee, but they’d have grown up around humans and everything, and then _their_ kids could very well be just human!”

“You’re _wrong!_ You’re _wrong;_ humanity _is_ biology, you can’t just _not_ be human- this is what I meant! You lived with them and they lied to you! And it doesn’t _matter_ even _if_ the evidence and what the Jagdsprinz says always lines up-”

Akane took a deep breath and looked like she was certain she’d won the argument.

“-what if the _Jagdsprinz_ lies? What do you do _then?_ ”

Arik dumped the knife and bread and board on the table and tore out of the room to get away from her, her and her _words,_ the _things_ she said about him and his people and his _Elti_ and the fundamental way that Honalee _worked,_ the reason he knew he’d always be safer there than in Earth and, no matter what happened, that he’d get _justice_ for it.

The General found him some time later, locked in the bathroom. He just ignored the door after the handle wouldn’t turn and stepped into the space beyond it.

“Akane will apologize when you come out,” he said.

“She won’t believe it,” Arik said into the warm pocket of air trapped between his legs and chest when he’d hugged his knees up to himself.

“She should have known better,” the General continued. “She or Svana is going to be the half-owner of Navin Technologies before they die, whichever of them marries Csaba to cement their parents’ plot to steal the company out from under Cass, as he so richly deserves. She’s been taught about things like cultural sensitivity. But she’s also been taught about law, and she feels pretty strongly about it. She’s got faith in it.”

“People lie and none of you can know until it blows up in their faces,” Arik told him. “She _shouldn’t_. Nobody can watch _those_ people like _Elti_ watches Honalee. And if _she_ lies about part of her job, Ereshkigal will come and take her power from her _herself_ and give it to somebody else. So it’s _not_ bad. She’s _not_ a murderer.”

He heard the General sit down on the floor.

“I’m not a big fan of strong faith in the law, either,” he said. “I’ve seen too much government to really trust it. Usually it works adequately; and then when it fucks up, it _fucks up._ But, kid- you’ve got to understand this. That’s not how most of the world thinks. They see the Jagdsprinz and the Hunt and they’re either excited, because there’s a definite romance about it all and your _Elti_ doesn’t really try to discourage it; or they’re really _pissed,_ because they think it’s like somebody throwing the entire evolution of modern democracy and republicanism back in their face and telling them they can’t be trusted to know how to manage for themselves and that humanity is fundamentally evil. And it doesn’t help that Nia’s so close to Princess Anja, the last monarch in Europe with real power in their government.”

“But that’s not how it _works,_ ” Arik said. “You can trust when the Jagdsprinz is around because there’s somebody to catch the lies, and if you know they can get caught, you’ll be more honest. Or get better at not-lying but saying everything you could. But that’s allowed in the rules because you have to be polite; and everybody will figure it out if you’re abusing it to trick people and then nobody will trust you _anyway._ ”

“It’s good in theory,” the General allowed. “And I’m certain that Nia, when she’s being Jagdsprinz, is as thorough as humanly possible in doing her duty to the best of her ability. She might hate me, but I’m really fucking proud of her for what she’s done, and you can tell her that. But she’s not infallible, either.”

Arik raised his head to look at him.

“If you’re talking about her and Venice-”

“I’m talking about her and me,” the General told him. “Feli’s not a _bad_ example- everything she’s accused him of is true, and yeah, he’s got a debt to the people he hurt. I personally think she’s wrong to _keep_ being this pissed at him and letting it affect her politics when she _knows_ he fucked up and did what he did knowing people could get hurt and now he just wants to be able to hold a conversation without screaming again- but if she’s not going to forgive him then she’s allowed not to forgive him. But her and me is something different. Yeah, I lied about what was going on with Heinrich and Johannes and Nikolaus, and I would have lied about Ludwig and Dietrich too, if I could have gotten away with it.”

“You’re not sorry,” Arik said. “ _That’s_ why she doesn’t like you. I was wondering.”

“I’m not sorry and I’m never going to be,” the General said. “And that’s always going to stand between us. She can say I’m a serial liar and I won’t deny it. But I’m _certain_ that I took the better road by lying than by telling the truth. The Jagdsprinz can say with all authority that the lying is bad, but she can’t prove that I didn’t keep things from being worse.”

“But they didn’t know the whole truth about themselves-”

“Knowing fucked Dietrich up,” the General cut in bluntly. “Knowing fucked Johannes up. Just _me_ knowing fucked Ludwig up, because I expected stuff from him he didn’t understand, and came to completely the wrong conclusions about what I _actually_ wanted because of it and just about self-destructed over it. But one of the things Ludwig was was somebody who tried too hard to please the people he cared about, and _I’m_ convinced that him knowing about the others would have just dumped Johannes’ issues on top of the ones he had from me pushing him- and if that had happened, he’d have probably have shut himself up inside his head and cracked just as bad as Ivan did over the communist revolutions. We would never have _had_ Ludwig. And I’m pretty sure Nia knows that I think like that and that it’s pretty likely, and agreeing with me pisses her off more than anything else. But the _point_ is, anyway, that your _Elti_ might be really good as Jagdsprinz, but that doesn’t mean that once she slips out of that role that she doesn’t have some pretty big areas where she doesn’t care about letting her emotions get to the decision-making process before her rationality.”    

* * *

Arik came back from Berlin and begged his _Elti_ never to make him leave Martinach again. All he wanted to do with his life, he told her, was get old enough to be an adult and then join the Hunt.

His _Elti_ looked at him like she was _sad,_ and told him that as much as she wanted to keep him forever, the way she couldn’t keep her sister or brother, she wasn’t going to take him without him being fully informed about the choice he was making.

So Arik now knew that he was going to have to go to college some distance from Martinach, at _least,_ to satisfy his _Elti_ ’s standards of _‘fully informed’_.

* * *

The argument with Akane Ásdísdottir Honda bothered him all year. He told Ulrik that Christian Wilhelm had asked after him, because that was only polite- but he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask about what he thought _‘human’_ meant. He didn’t ask his teachers in Martigny, and he didn’t ask his classmates, though he knew them reasonably well.

He thought about asking Mrs. von Rothbart, who was one of the human Honalenier in Martinach, but he hadn’t decided to do it yet before summer came and Louis and Zoé Langlais announced their engagement on the last day of Market. Arik picked up on a sort of ambiguous, awkward disapproval- they were only nineteen, the feeling seemed to be, but _Louis’_ parents had basically known they were going to get married at that age, even if they hadn’t made it official; but Zell and Rémy had known each other _much_ more thoroughly than Louis and Zoé- that dissipated some after they told everyone that they were planning on a long engagement, and were only going to get _married_ after they’d completed some years of university.

The parents left for their homes reassured, and the cousins had a party. It had alcohol, since most of the group were adults or at least over the unsupervised drinking age- sixteen- which meant that Arik, Odette, Vasco, Benigno, and Marlies were the only ones going without. Ulrik was seventeen and had decided to befriend the beer.

It was dusky when Arik looked at his group and realized he had a good cross-section of people to ask his question to; and if he needed an excuse, well- Mosè and Fabrizia were getting increasingly abstract in their philosophical discussion, forgetting that they had drinks at all.

“What makes someone human?” he asked.

Ulrik peered at him through his slightly-impaired mental functioning, clearly puzzled.

“Y’- Y’re _born_ human,” he said. “And uh, um, your brain. Capacity for reason and morality, makes you human.”

“But it’s not like you _stop_ being human even when you’re being irrational and immoral, even if we call evil people _‘inhuman’_ ,” Marlies elaborated. “It’s- it’s not a metaphor. But something like that. Why?”

Arik hadn’t wanted to get asked that question, but he had a response prepared.

“Because I wanted to know if you thought _I_ was,” he said carefully.

“Of _course_ you’re human,” Vasco told him. “Is that what’s been wrong with you? You were worried? You’ve been acting like something was up since you got back from Berlin.”

“W’all noticed,” Ulrik said. “If the- the- people. The people in Berlin said you weren’t. They’re wrong. You’re fine.”

“We’re all human here,” Vasco said, clearly trying to be reassuring.

Arik and Odette met eyes across the table. There was an instant of perfect clarity, understanding, and previously-unaccomplished wholehearted consensus between the two of them.

They both stood up from the table simultaneously and walked off in opposite directions. Arik heard Odette snap at Marlies and Vasco that _she_ was going to go talk to _Luisa,_ who might have been drunk and was kind of flighty and frivolous even when sober, but who at least wouldn’t _insult_ her in such a disgraceful and egregious fashion.

Arik’s feet took him to the Agrestas’ house. It was a small thing, in the Barracks at the head of Officer’s Row, the line of homes for officers with families along one of the Barracks’ unofficial _‘streets’_ , worn dirt paths in the grass that someone had given into the reality of and were now partially graveled, courtesy of the Oreads. Every so often someone talked about paving them- they’d put in the effort to relocate the original barracks buildings further down the mountain and even put up Sankt Michelmarc’s adjacent to the memorial cemetery, so why not just finish off the little village it had started to grow into- but there were larger building projects to be completed first.

 _Signor_ Agresta was the one who opened the door, still partially in uniform from getting home, the long black jacket off and the sleeves of his light gray shirt pushed up. He didn’t say anything, just gestured for Arik to come inside and had him sit down on the couch.

“Did people get stupid-drunk?” he asked. “Should I send some of the junior Jäger down to break it up and get people to confront their bad behavior in the morning?”

“The alcohol wasn’t the problem,” Arik said, and ended up telling _Signor_ Agresta everything from Akane up through leaving the party, explaining his entire schematic for what made somebody human and someone Honalenier.

Nico actually leaned back in his seat when Arik finished. His gaze fell somewhere in the middle distance in the air above Arik’s head.

“Huh,” he said.

That was a very uninformative answer. Arik’s hands fisted in his pants.

“Am I… wrong?” he asked _Signor_ Agresta tentatively. He didn’t think he was wrong. He didn’t see _how_ he could be wrong.

“I _feel_ like you should be wrong,” _Signor_ Agresta told him. “But I’m not sure if you are. You’re saying that being _Homo sapiens_ is to being human what being a Huldrene or an Oread or a Dvergr or Tylwyth is to being Honalenier?”

“As long as we’re talking about it just how each uses magic differently, yeah,” Arik agreed. “But not the different governments or cultural stuff. That’s like the intermediary stage, I guess.”

“Then I think I might have to agree with you,” the man said. “I never thought that was a distinction I’d have to make- but living with Honalenier so long like this… I understand it now that I’ve stopped to think about it. And it’s not as if I haven’t already said I’m technically not really human.”

“If it’s important to you to be human,” Arik told him. “There’s no reason why you can’t be a _Seelenkind_ human. I’m pretty sure that’s what _Elti_ was. Maybe she still is.”

“I suppose,” _Signor_ Agresta said. “But I don’t really like the qualifier.”

“What is everybody so insistent about being _human_ anyway?” Arik asked. “I don’t get it. It’s not like it’s _better_ to be human. Or it _shouldn’t_ be.”

 _Signor_ Agresta sat on the question for long enough that Arik was wondering if he was ever going to say anything.

“Your _Elti_ and I are going to have to have a talk, I think,” he finally said. “I don’t think either of realized just _how_ different it’s been for you, growing up here.”

“I don’t want to leave!” Arik told him hotly, on the emotional edge between annoyance and anger. “People keep saying that I _have_ to, but just because _you_ didn’t grow up like this-”

“It’s not bad that you did,” _Signor_ Agresta interrupted him. “For what it’s worth, I apologize for pushing it in the first place. There’s absolutely no reason that you _shouldn’t_ have developed a favorable bias towards how and where you’ve grown up. But Martinach is a very small part of a world that’s bigger than we know we can really comprehend. You just don’t know how humans think, and Martinach exists in the midst of a human space. _That’s_ why you have to learn about it.”

“I haven’t liked what I’ve seen of how humans think very much,” Arik said.

“Let me try to explain,” _Signor_ Agresta said. “About why people are insisting on being human. For all of human history, being human has been the same thing as being a person. There’s a lot of weight to that connotation of the word. When you say _you’re_ not human, people are hearing it was you proudly declaring you’re not a person. It’s strange, but by and large it won’t be their business. But when you try to _prove_ that humanity is a matter of culture, it becomes about them. It gets… disturbing.”

“But I’m not saying they’re not a _person,_ ” Arik argued. “I make that clear from talking about how you can be human and Honalenier.”

“Even if they know that’s what you’re saying,” _Signor_ Agresta told him. “Even if they have the concept of _‘human’_ and _‘person’_ as something distinct intellectually- and, to an extent emotionally, like I would say the citizens of Martigny and my sons do- they’ve been hearing the words used as synonyms their entire lives. It’s-”

He sighed.

“I’m not really sure how to say it. It’s frustrating. But a person who isn’t a human is a person who has something _missing._ They’re not as- _good._ They’re not as _right._ Natural, something like that. Nations make a distinction between _‘being Nation’_ and _‘being human’_ ; but when faced with Honalee or the Pict, they won’t categorize themselves as Nation. They’ll say they’re human. _That’s_ how deep this goes.”

“That’s wrong,” Arik said. “That’s really, _really_ wrong. Humans shouldn’t think like that.”

“Well, we do,” _Signor_ Agresta said. “It’s something I’ll have to talk to your _Elti_ about. And I should probably tell Lana and János, and my father and Finland and- better just make it the entire Correspondence Circle. This line of thinking will get toxic _very_ fast if we’re not ready to counter it.”

Arik figured that was probably the end of the conversation. _Signor_ Agresta had started talking more to himself than paying attention to him, and he had the slightly unfocused look he got when he was trying to remember something long enough to write it down.

“When you talk to _Elti,_ ” he told him. “Could you ask her not to make me go _too_ far?”

“Hm?” _Signor_ Agresta asked. “Oh- well, I can say you said so. But I don’t think she’s going to change her mind about it. Especially now that she’ll know _this_ is going on. Thank you for telling me about it.”

And of _course_ deciding to share had come back to make him regret it. Four years until he was eighteen, and then four years or so of a degree… eight years until he could join the Hunt.

He’d have to find some way to put up with it.

* * *

Arik was woken the next morning by the sound of the door connecting his _Elti_ ’s office to the reception room that fronted the second floor of the grand staircase atrium closing forcefully. It was followed by the door just across the hall from his room being shut with what was almost a slam.

Until that second noise, he’d thought that maybe _Signor_ Agresta had come up to talk to his _Elti_ about what he’d said last night. But he didn’t see why she’d be closing doors like that, like she was _angry,_ if that was it.

He hoped what he thought about humanity wouldn’t make his _Elti_ angry. He didn’t _think_ it would, but- she’d grown up thinking she was human.

Arik slipped out of bed and went to listen by the hallway door, just to check.

“You can just let me go, right?”

That was _Luisa._ He hadn’t been expecting _that._

“Let you _go?_ ” his _Elti_ said, voice rising slightly in volume. She was _definitely_ angry. “Let you _go?_ ”

“B-but that’s how it works, isn’t it?” Luisa asked, sounding nervous. “ _Zio_ Nico _told_ us that’s how it worked, in class-”

 “Oh, in _theory,_ Luisa,” his _Elti_ said. Her tone was- it was something he hadn’t heard before. It didn’t sound quite like his _Elti_. Maybe-

Maybe this was the Jagdsprinz sounded like.

“Is- is it more complicated? Because if it takes a while it doesn’t matter to me, I’ll do it. I don’t want to be i-”

“If you didn’t want to be in the Hunt, you shouldn’t have eaten an Apple!”

Wait. Wait.

 _Luisa_ wasn’t in the Hunt. _Luisa_ was going to university in Italy in two months-

“I-I was _drunk_ I-I didn’t _mean_ to-!”

“I didn’t think she’d actually _do_ it when I dared her to!”

Odette was there too? Luisa had gotten drunk and Odette had- dared her to eat an Apple? Where had she even _gotten_ an-

The party had been outside. They must have walked over to the Tree.

Why would Odette _do_ that? She’d grown up in Martinach, she _knew_ better-

“It doesn’t matter what you _thought_ or what you _meant,_ ” the Jagdsprinz snapped at them. “It _happened._ ”

He almost missed what Luisa said next, because it was so quiet.

“I don’t want to be in the Hunt. Please, _Tante-_ ”

“Are you certain you want to say that, Luisa Costa? Are you _certain_ you want to tell me that?”

The Jagdsprinz’s voice was cold.

“It’s tr-”

“Either you wanted to be a Jager so badly that you couldn’t wait for me to give you permission, Luisa Costa, or you admit that you _stole_ from the Hunt.”

Arik froze. On the other side of the door, he could hear Odette suck in a sharp breath.

“The power to be in the Hunt is _mine_ to give and take, and you have _stolen_ that from me with what you did,” the Jagdsprinz said. “You overstepped your bounds. You violated my duties, and therefore the Jagdsprinz’s Pact. And the cost of violating the Pact, _Signorina_ Costa, has always been _death_.”

Arik wasn’t _fond_ of Luisa, and didn’t know her that well, but would his _Elti_ really-

“You are an idiot. You are a child who knows enough of magic and Honalee to think she knows how it works. Death for idiocy and immaturity can be a pleasing thought, but it is a precedent not easily ignored. I would prefer not to make one for myself.”

Her voice lost some of the anger and hardness.

“And I would rather not kill my brother’s daughter, not for something like this,” the Jagdsprinz told Luisa. “So I ask you: do you want to be in the Hunt?”

 _“Y-yes,”_ Luisa sobbed.

“Then go report to Zaubkommandant Agresta, Jager Costa. He will be your commanding officer, and will get you cleared with Hilfstruppen Departments for your lodging, equipment, and schedule. Then you will both come back here, and you can explain to your brothers what you’ve done; and then we will all go to Venice and you can explain to your _parents_.”

If Luisa responded, Arik didn’t hear it. The only sound he could pick up was Luisa opening the door to staircase atrium landing.

“And _you,_ Odette ap Ly- _you_ were not drunk. _You_ should know better. Your actions last night were a disgrace to your parents and your mentors. You will go find your parents, beg their forgiveness, and leave immediately for your grandmother’s court. You will remain there, or wherever Queen Nicnevin sees fit to send you, until I give you permission to return to my lands. You will not come to Martinach, or the Jägerskov, or Nysa, until you have heard otherwise from me. _Is this clear?_ ”

Odette was Honalenier, and only fourteen. She was not going to argue with the Jagdsprinz.

“Yes, Jagdsprinz.”

Arik crept back to his room. His _Elti_ had probably known he was there- he’d stayed long enough- but if didn’t say anything, she probably wouldn’t ask.

* * *

The next summer, none of the cousins came to visit. Arik tried to be happy about that.

* * *

In the wake of Luisa _‘joining’_ the Hunt, his _Elti_ officially made twenty-five the minimum age of membership. That was about as young as she had ever voluntarily taken anyone anyway, but Arik had been hoping that he could convince her to take him earlier.

“Seven more years,” Ulrik tried to reassure him. He was lying on his back in the grass in Pwffio’s field over Nysa, his laptop resting against his drawn-up knees while he wrote the essay that he’d been assigned over the summer. He was in his junior year of secondary schooling in America, at Georgetown University. As befitted a future ruling monarch, he was pursuing an International Politics degree in the university’s School of Foreign Service. Arik would follow him overseas at the end of this summer to start in the exact same program. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do. “And four of those will be at the University. I’m sure you’ll be able to find something to kill the other three with. You could get another degree.”

“The whole thing is pointless,” Arik said. “I’m going to go to university for four to six years, get a degree, and then come right home and join the Hunt, where I won’t be _doing_ anything with it.”

“Not true,” Ulrik argued. “You could get assigned to the Marshal’s Staff. They’d probably be happy to have someone trained to handle the Hunt’s diplomacy and official business.”

“I should be going to a military academy instead.”

“That would do you even less good. They’d train you all wrong for the Hunt and then you’d owe whatever military it was service.”

 They’d been having this argument for a while. It was starting to feel rehearsed.

“Did Pwffio go back to his sea cave?”

That was a new part of the conversation.

“No?” Arik said. _He_ hadn’t heard anything about it, at least.

“It’s just that I haven’t seen him around,” Ulrik said. “And he’s kind of hard to miss.”

Come to think about, Arik hadn’t seen him, either. That was strange. They didn’t really have lessons any longer, not since they’d felt able to say with some confidence that Arik didn’t seem to have an upper limit to how many bodies he could have in ‘reserve’ to change to and the dragon hadn’t been able to teach him anything more about flying or hunting, but they still _talked._ Pwffio didn’t really have anyone else.

Arik rolled over and turned the movement into a smooth transition to one of the Hunt’s Hounds. He started scenting, trying to locate the dragon.

“Have fun,” Ulrik told his friend absently, no longer perturbed by the intermediate, amorphous white amoebic stage where the previous form was tucked away but before the second one had completely come out.

Arik wagged his tail to show acknowledgement and caught a bit of Pwffio on the breeze. He followed the scent for some time down the field, following the flow of the Celadon River, far below at the bottom of the canyon, towards the Sea.

He found Pwffio at the edge of the giant cliff overlooking the mouth of the Celadon where it merged with the Sea.

“Have you come to say goodbye?” the dragon rumbled.

Arik went back to default.

“I’m not leaving for a couple weeks yet,” he reminded Pwffio. “I will then.”

“I would ask you to stay,” Pwffio said. “But the Jagdsprinz has commanded you go.”

“You wanted me to stay?” Arik asked, interested. He’d known that Pwffio didn’t have much else companionship, but he hadn’t thought the dragon had actually thought to go that far.

Pwffio kept staring out over the Sea.

“I had another child, once,” he said. “Young and bright and wanting nothing but the magic Honalee had to offer. I thought I would be able to keep him, forever, the way that the humans in the Hills and elsewhere live so long. But he wanted to go back and see Earth, eventually, and I let him go. He was gone for so long. I asked the Erlkönig to find him, to see what had become of him, if it had been too long and he was dead-”

“Was he?” Arik asked.

“The Erlkönig brought him back to Honalee,” Pwffio said, voice heavy with sadness. “ _Dragged_ him back, to try to make me feel better. My child had grown up, and wanted nothing to do with Honalee or magic. He refused to believe his own eyes. He denied me; and I- I cursed him. To never see what he did not want to see. I was so angry. And then it did nothing but hurt. I thought to sleep the rest of my days away, but then Tristan called me awake to fly with the Hunt, and I could not bear to return to where he still stays, cursed until he dies. Tristan had promised me children, and then the Hunt brought children to me-”

He looked down at Arik.

“-brought _you._ And now you are leaving. Growing up.”

“I’m going to come back,” Arik promised awkwardly. “And I’m not going to forget magic, or Honalee, or you. I’d never _want_ to forget that. All I want to do is join the Hunt.”

“I am _old,_ Princeling,” Pwffio told him, using an endearment Arik hadn’t heard in years. “The First Serpent of the waters below us was my brother. I have been here since almost the beginning of Honalee, which was long before humans were a possibility on Earth. There were more of mine once, siblings all, but they are gone. Dead of age, or fighting amongst themselves. I want nothing but to _stop,_ but I find myself unable to. There is but one way I have found that will keep me in peace for the rest of my life. It will keep me close to you, as well.”

“You want me to-”

Pwffio craned his neck down so he was eye-level as he could get to Arik.

“I will not resist,” he said. “And it will give you something of home to take with you, whenever you must leave. I know how much you hate it.”

Arik took a deep breath and reached out, placing his hands on Pwffio’s head. He closed his eyes and let himself sink under the dragon’s skin.

The only other magical being he’d ever taken had been the unicorn, years before. This was a very different experience.

He’d never had the sensation of _expanding_ before, even though when he was younger most of the bodies he’d taken had been bigger by a few magnitudes than his native one. But there was just so much _room_ to take up inside the dragon, and Arik could feel his soul stretching, pleasantly, like waking up in the morning, except there was no limit to how far he could go-

The breath he took was deep, and his ribs expanding seemed more like a movement of the earth than part of biological function, with the memory of breathing in a human body still fresh.

Arik opened his new body’s eyes and looked out over the Sea. He rolled his shoulder joints experimentally, feeling the complex movement of the intricate system of pieces of bone and strings of tendons and ligament that gave him separate functionality in forelegs and wings while mirroring the movements between the sets of appendages. He spread his wings, testing for the air currents, then dug his talons into the dirt and pushed off over the water, rising rapidly and effortlessly, enjoying the feeling of his wing membranes vibrating with the passage of the air, especially the fluttering tickle on their outermost points.

He glided in a wide arc around back towards the Jägerskov and started coming up quickly on the Jagdshall clearing, the building itself sitting right on the fault line between the two worlds, space bending interestingly- familiarly- around it.

The distortion, he realized, continued up into the air over the Jagdshall. That wasn’t something he’d ever thought about before.

Arik eyed the available space. His _Elti_ might give him a look later, but-

He drew his wings in tightly and shot through the sky over the Jägerskov into Martinach airspace, the Jäger below him exclaiming in surprise as his passage caused a large displacement of air and whipped up a wind across the Barracks and sent a burst of air down the road towards Sebastianhaus. He extended his wings again and rose, high enough that he wouldn’t be causing any more ground-level disturbances, his shadow below him crossing the line between Martinach and Martigny. People, residents in tourists, in the city below were looking up and pointing. Presumably some were taking pictures, but he didn’t feel like looking that closely.

Arik executed a tight horizontal wheel in the air, the tip of his right wing serving as a stationary point in space around which he moved, for the people watching. At the end of the turn he shot up, flapping his wings for height, aiming for the clouds. He managed to break cover and got a short glimpse of the clear sky above.

Satisfied for the day, he made a lazy half-roll and relaxed his wings, letting himself fall back-first through the air for a few seconds, savoring how the perfect moment of balance at the top of the arc left him feeling weightless for just a split second before he began accelerating rapidly. Far above the city, he changed into a different body, much smaller- a hawk. The change in mass cheated physics and robbed him of some of his speed and he broke out of the fall to fly back to Martinach, landing himself on the empty grounds of Sankt Michelmarc.     

He _did_ get a look from his _Elti_ , later, but he didn’t particularly care.

* * *

Arik held onto those few minutes of dragon-flight for weeks afterwards, trying to scrounge every bit of happiness and satisfaction out of them that he could.

He hated university.

He hated being across the ocean from Martinach.

He hated the way people were so _enthusiastic_ to meet him, the way they thought he was some sort of fairy-tale prince, a fantasy hero, something _exotic_ and _exciting._

He hated how some of his politics professors were clearly making a _point,_ going on about republicanism and democracy and fixing a stare on him as they did so.

He hated how Ulrik was two years older than him and had friends that weren’t him and less free time to fit everyone and everything he wanted in.

He hated his _free time,_ because it was space where he had nothing to do but think about home.

And he hated his roommate, who had walked in one day to see Arik in snake shape sunning himself on the window and almost called the dorm officials on him, then told Arik that he didn’t want any shape-changing in their room.

Arik wanted to go _home._

* * *

Returning home for the summer between his junior and senior years was everything but pleasant and relaxing and uplifting, because on June 17th Louis and Zoé, married five years now, got in a fatal car crash on the road outside of Colmer, France, on their way to vacation at Zoé’s mother’s, who had divorced her father in the middle of her daughter’s engagement period.

Well, the crash was fatal for Louis in Zoé, in the front seat. Four-year-old Émilie and one-year-old Mäelle, in the backseat, were fine. It was one of those accidents of fate.

The funeral was the first time in eight years that Arik had seen his cousin’s family. _Tante_ Zell and _Onkle_ Rémy and Marlies came from New York City, all their belongings packed up and ready to move into a new house that his _Elti_ had found for her sister. His _Tante_ and _Onkle_ were moving to Martigny to take care of their grandchildren, raising them in the vicinity of their maternal grandfather, who now ran the café by himself and didn’t have time to take care of two young girls, one of them barely speaking yet and the other old enough to feel the loss of her parents.

He also got to meet Mr. Galante, his _Tante_ ’s second-in-command at the UN in the Department of Nations’ Affairs, who would now be taking over for her there. Mr. Galante had brought his wife, Drika, and their thirteen-year-old son Radoslav, to help with the moving.

Arik’s summer was a mess of helping get his _Tante_ and _Onkle_ moved in, trying to comfort Marlies over the death of her brother and eventually leaving it to the much more capable Ulrik, and politely deflecting Mr. Galante’s scattered suggestions that Arik come to work for him at the UN after he’d finished his degree. Arik was kind of glad to see him off. All he wanted was to join the Hunt; and the man hadn’t seemed to really believe that.

He and his _Elti_ started taking dinners, not every night but more than once a week, with _Signor_ and _Signora_ Agresta and _Tante_ Zell and _Onkle_ Rémy down at _Tante_ and _Onkle_ ’s house in Martigny. Sometimes Vasco came along, but not often- he was sticking close to his newly-announced sister, who was still nervous about presenting in public. It took most of the summer for his _Elti_ to coax her to come along, reassuring Terenzia all the way that the family was used to gender issues and being trans wasn’t going to be a problem.

Arik hadn’t known the family was used to this sort of thing. _Signor Agresta_ hadn’t known the family was used to this sort of thing. His _Tante_ Zell had to be the one to inform them quietly that the _one_ closely-kept secret that hadn’t torn his _Elti_ ’s family- her, her siblings, her _Vati_ , _Prozio_ Vino, Germany, and Venice- apart was that Venice was not always male.

It was kind of a pain, the way _Tante_ and _Onkle_ wouldn’t come up the mountain to them. It would have made things much easier. His _Elti_ hadn’t really needed to tell him that they still thought of the Jagdshall as the Teufelhaus, and didn’t want to get anywhere near it if they didn’t have to- his _Elti_ had always gone to see her siblings and cousins in their hotels when they’d been coming in the summers, after all. But if they were going to _live_ here now, in Martigny, they’d have to get over it, wouldn’t they?

 _Elti_ said they didn’t. Arik wasn’t so sure of that.

* * *

He graduated Georgetown in the class of 2076 with his degree in International Politics and immediately fled back to Europe. He was going to be twenty-three in a few months, two years away from being old enough to join the Hunt- two more years to satisfy his _Elti_ that he’d become _‘fully informed’_ of what the choice to do so would cost him.

Martigny would be too close to convince her, he thought. But Stuttgart-

The Hunt wouldn’t be hurt by some closer connections to the government in Stuttgart, and the capital of the VRG was four and a half hours away by car. Arik had looked it up.

The government pushed him around some. First he worked in Dietrich Ehren’s office, which worked out all right because they could look each other in the face and not have Arik’s _Elti_ or _Groβvati_ come between them, but it just wasn’t the best fit. So Arik was switched to working, briefly, in _Kanzler_ Väinämöinen’s office. He got the impression that the smiling man from Ásdís Geirsdottir’s kitchen over a decade ago wasn’t the most happy in his position, but he wasn’t bad at his job and people liked him. Dietrich certainly adored him.

His next job was with the Federal Ministry of Space Technology and Exploration, still basically Navin Technologies under another name, even after almost a quarter-century. They shifted him out of that job when he didn’t show his father’s genius aptitude for the work.

So he finally landed on General Beilschmidt’s staff, which took him out of Stuttgart all the way north back to Berlin, because the _Vereinigntnachtrichtendienst_ , the Unified Intelligence Service, and the _Landenswehr_ had their headquarters there. They were no longer out of the same building, at least- the Berlin House was now quite expanded, but served only as VND headquarters. The armed forces had moved to the northern edge of _Neueinnenstadt_ , next to the Fire memorials for the Chancellery and Reichstag.

Arik worked with the Intelligence Service for just over nine months, serving a kind of apprenticeship under the General. It was a delicate balance, figuring out what exactly they were going to let him work with- since he was, after all, technically a foreign national, no matter his family connections and political goodwill he was technically fostering- but the General handled it well and Arik got a lot of experience in analysis, and the Hunt got a cut of least-sensitive information in exchange for reports on the state of Honalee from the Marshal’s Staff.

Those fifteen months in the Berlin House taught him more about humanity than anything else he’d done outside of Martinach. When his _Elti_ called him back home, he thought that she’d been convinced he finally knew what he was getting into.

He did.

He still didn’t want anything else.

* * *

“I proposed to Marlies,” was the first thing Ulrik told him when Arik got back home. His friend had come to meet him at the train station to take him to Martinach.

“My _cousin_ Marlies?” Arik asked.

“Yeah, your cousin Marlies,” he said. “You don’t _understand,_ Arik. She’s _wonderful._ ”

“You barely know her.”

“I barely _knew_ her,” Ulrik corrected. “We talked a lot that summer her brother died. And we’ve kept talking. But when I asked she-”

He stopped.

“I’m sorry?” Arik said, failing to make it not sound a little like a question. He hadn’t known a thing about Ulrik and Marlies’ apparent relationship, and couldn’t quite picture it. “That you’re not getting married.”

“She didn’t say no,” Ulrik said miserably. “That’s the _worst_ part. She said she _wanted_ to marry me but she’s not sure if she wants to be royalty. _Mutti loves_ the idea. Your _Elti_ seems to think it would be beneficial. _Frau und Herr_ Beilschmidt don’t mind us getting married. It’s just _Marlies._ ”

“Well, it _is_ her choice.”

“I _know,_ but I _want_ to marry her. So badly, Arik.”

This was a very uncomfortable conversation.

There was a family dinner that night- him, his _Elti_ , his _Tante_ and _Onkle_ , Marlies, and her two nieces. Arik was a little vindicated to find that it was in the Marshal’s Staff’s small formal dining room in Sebastianhaus. Slowly, his cousin’s family was moving up the mountain.

“I’m ready to go back to work,” his _Tante_ was telling _Elti_. “And I have the feeling that the UN will just keep me here.”

“What could they have for you to do in Geneva? There’s not really meetings there, and that’s your specialty-”

“No, Nia, I mean _here,_ in Martigny. In charge of the embassy. We’re siblings, and they know I know how to handle… unique situations. I’m the most knowledgeable person they could hire about Honalee, unless we can finally get Arik from you. I heard good things about him from _Onkle_ Gilbert.”

“I’m joining the Hunt in a year,” Arik informed her. “Still.”

His _Tante_ smiled at him, looking older than the last time he’d seen her. She was how old now, sixty… sixty-eight. That was it. You couldn’t easily place her and _Elti_ as siblings, any longer, not that they looked much like each other in the first place. It had just been easier to visualize when he was younger, when the apparent age gap between them hadn’t been over thirty years.

“Well, I hope it works out well for you,” she told him, and focused on her sister again. “It was Miervaldis who was the biggest tip-off, really. He didn’t _say_ anything, but he sent his son- you remember Radoslav?-  to live with me. He’s taking a year off before going to university to be my _intern,_ and Miervaldis wouldn’t have let him come so far if he didn’t think I was going to be doing something they could do just as well in New York City-”

Arik started ignoring the conversation in favor of getting some answers from Marlies.

“You and Ulrik?” he asked.

She was picking at her food.

“Yeah,” she said. “Me and Ulrik. Did he ask you to come back to convince me?”

“No,” Arik told her. “ _Elti_ called me back. Maybe she’ll take me, now.”

“You’re only twenty-four.”

“That’s _almost_ twenty-five,” Arik said. “And I grew up here. That should be enough to waive the extra year.”

“She won’t do it,” Marlies said. “She made that rule herself, and you’re her son. She’d think it would look bad.”

“So then why am I here? I was doing good work in Berlin.”

“Ulrik’s going on a tour of Honalee,” Marlies told him. “It’s his mother’s idea. The Jagdsprinz is supposed to put together an escort for him. Who else would you send with a princess’s son but a prince’s son?”

* * *

Marlies had been right, it turned out.

His _Elti_ came to talk to him after dinner, out on the covered side deck of Sebastianhaus.

“Do you still want to join the Hunt?”

“The answer’s never going to change, _Elti_ ,” Arik told her, snapping a little. “I want to be Jager. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t know why you don’t want me.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” she said. “There’s just so much more to the world. And I feel like you haven’t seen-”

 _“I don’t care,”_ Arik said. “I want _Martinach,_ and the Hunt. I want Martigny and Nysa and the Jägerskov. I’ve _seen_ other parts of the world, and in the Hunt I’ll probably see more, but _this_ is what I want.”

His _Elti_ sighed a little, sounding resigned, then smiled at him slightly.

“You’re an awful lot like your _Zia_ Gianna,” she told him quietly. “She’d never leave the Vatican if she could help it. Once she figured out what she wanted, no one could change _her_ mind, either.”

“Then take me into the Hunt,” Arik pleaded. “Please, _Elti_. I’ve left when you wanted me to and now I want this.”

“You’re not old enough, Arik,” she said. “Nine more months, and then I can. Go with Ulrik around Honalee in the meantime. You may as well see it now.”

“Yes, _Elti_.”

Nine months. He could manage nine months in Honalee.  

* * *

The day they left Arik was surprised to find Vasco, Terenzia, Luisa, and Marlies mounted up and ready to leave as well.

“You two aren’t even in the Hunt,” he said to Vasco and Terenzia, then looked at Marlies. “And _you_ don’t even have the excuse that you grew up here.”

“You’re not in the Hunt either,” Terenzia retorted. Arik was surprised by that. She’d never been particularly assertive when they were younger. Apparently growing up had done her a lot of good. “And Vasco _is,_ actually. One month now. I’ll be joining next year.”

“My jackets are all torn up,” Vasco admitted sheepishly, justifying why he wasn’t in the knee-length black coat, only the light gray shirt, darker gray pants, and black boots Arik _should_ have recognized as the underlayer of the Hunt’s uniform. “Workshop. You know how it is.”

“I thought you’d gotten over setting things on fire there,” Arik said with an amused smile, remembering the trouble they’d had as Vasco’s father had fumbled his way through teaching his first students, whom he barely knew any more about magic than.

“It wasn’t fire,” Terenzia said. “We’ve been working on applying magic to body armor. I’m pretty sure we’ve got it figured out now.”

“Yeah, well, you can leave those prototype guns Navin Technologies sent over in storage until you’re _certain-_ ”

“Fall in, both of you,” Luisa ordered. She sat comfortably atop her horse, the single gold cuff stripe of an _Offizier_ shining on both her sleeves. “I don’t care if you’re not technically in the Hunt yet, Terenzia, you’re going to be reporting to _me_ when you do.”

“Yes, _Offizier_ Costa,” they said.

They were riding for the Court of the Tylwyth Teg first, down the Nysa Road to Finias and then from Finias on to the Court. Arik dropped back to where Marlies was once they’d been on the road for a while.

“Why are you coming along?”

“ _Mutti_ and _Vati_ and Princess Anja and the Jagdsprinz thought it would be a good idea,” she said. “This is the sort of thing I’d have to do if I married Ulrik- state visits and parties and being official. They said I should test it out and then make the final decision about saying yes to him or not.”

It seemed like a sound idea to Arik. They stopped in Finias for an early lunch, where Luisa’s uniform got the inn staff where they had decided to eat a little worked up, doing their best to serve them quickly and with the best they had. From there it the rest of the day riding to the Court, a small city all to itself- the palace in the middle, the nobility’s residences and guest inns and shops and servant’s housing ringing it.

Odette met them inside the palace gates.

It was a bit of a shock for Arik. He hadn’t thought about her in years, and she looked so different than the last time he’d seen her, eleven years ago at Louis and Zoé’s engagement party. She was much taller and had grown her hair out ridiculously long so it could be drawn up in loops and braids and buns like some sort of arcane architectural structure. It must have been a hairstyle she did often, because sections of it were dyed strikingly white-blonde and ochre red against her natural brown, bound up with strips of leather dyed the rich blue the Tylwyth favored so much. She looked very much like a courtier.

Luisa, it turned out, had a letter for her. She handed the envelope to Odette just before they entered the throne room to be received by Queen Nicnevin, and after they’d been released to mingle Odette rushed up and flung her arms around Luisa’s neck, tears dripping down her face. Vasco tugged the letter out of Odette’s hand to take a look.

“The Jagdsprinz said she can finally come back,” he told the others. “And she’s coming with us the rest of the way, too.”

“I hope we don’t pick up anyone else,” Arik muttered to Ulrik. “Seven people is a bit much.”

“On the road, maybe,” Ulrik said. “But it does make us look more important.”

“We’re already important.”

They stayed with the Tylwyth Teg for a month, leaving the Court after two weeks to travel to the island of Avalon, just off the northern coast where Falias lay. Prince Afallach welcomed them to the rather rugged island of his wife Eimhir. The scenery was astounding, green with grass and moss and rocky, and the smaller court there was warm and happy to have visitors.

From Avalon they sailed along the coast to Cíbola, one of the Five Cities and currently the residence of the High King, who had been simply King there before the rotation of the position between the cities fell to him. It was one of the most interesting places Arik had ever had reason to visit- Stuttgart and Berlin were very much modern cities, though Berlin tended more towards government jobs and factories than Stuttgart, and DC was a national capital but had seemed much less impressive to him than Stuttgart.

Cíbola was electric, in more than one sense of the word. The atmosphere of the city was crackling, happening, tense with energy and busy excitement as people went out to work or entertainment or school. They were shown the university on their first day there, a massive structure of heavy carved stone counterpoised with walls of glass, the disparity between the two smoothed over by the lacquered and gold-plated steel that formed the joints of the panes and inset between the stone slabs of the walls. In the daylight everything sparkled and shone in the sun- the best way they found to describe the aesthetic of it all was art nouveau, if someone had strengthened the lines and made things a little thicker, a little more blocky, slightly less flowing. The colors were different, as well, favoring bright gem tones and metallic rather than pastels.

At night, Cíbola lit up with electricity, the street lamps glowing and sparking and the interiors of the buildings blazing with light. The Cíbolans gilded everything it was practical to, and their fondness for mirrors and intensely-colored wall hangings and glass made everything a riot of colors and visual noise,  artfully placed shadows and allies left purposefully dark giving somewhere for people to retreat if it all got too much. The lights never really died and the city never really slept, though in the night it was possible to get the noise damped with a thick fog that diffused the entire city into a haze of light and dark, the high long whistle of the elevated trains connecting the different areas of the large island to each other and the mainland cities of Chicomoztoc the only guide to where you were.

Vasco and Odette _loved_ it. Arik could take it a few days at a time, but then found himself exhausted and try to hole up away from company, playing card games with Terenzia and trying to find something to talk about with Luisa, when she wasn’t busy. Luisa, it seemed, had been deputized to bring up the topic of extending the Chicomoztoc rail lines across Honalee. That was something they could discuss, at least.

“I don’t think the Tylwyth Teg will stand for it,” Luisa said the afternoon they left Cíbola for La Canela, where they would be staying for a few days while they discussed the itinerary- they could continue on to the Steppes or take the Vaitarani to the Ífingr and take it down through Lintukoto to Buyan and Polí Thálassas instead. “They’re very traditional there, and they’d have to either build a bridge over Lake Iardan or go over the Mountains.”

“And that would be a lot of steel and iron to run straight through the Hills,” Odette pointed out.

“They could run it down over the Ífingr, through the outer corner of Lintukoto, and then over the Mountains along the Huntsroad to get to Nysa,” Vasco suggested.

“We _need_ the Huntsroad, though,” Terenzia said. “And if you run anything through the Mountains you’d always have to worry about the unicorns.”

“If you put the station at the top of Nysa,” Arik said. “And ran the track along the top of the canyon and swung it around the outskirts of the Jägerskov and then over the Mountains and connect it to the Paititi junction, then you’d keep it out of the Hills. And putting that much steel and iron into the middle of unicorn territory should keep them far away from the train and the passengers.”

They discussed it off and on over the next day or so in between thinking about the next place they’d go and roaming the streets of La Canela, heavy with the scent of perfume and spices that were the city’s specialty. News came on the afternoon train the day they had to make their decision that Empress Xī Wángmǔ of Kūnlún was set to have her first child in some months, and it was agreed that it would be best to stick with the original plan to continue on the rail line to Quiviria and then across the Steppes to Ordon Khot, the only permanent settlement on the Steppes, to be received by Möngkedai Khan.

That ride was significantly longer than the trip between Cíbola and La Canela, and at the end of it they stepped off the platform into Ordon Khot to collect their horses to find a sprawling city of brick and plaster and ceramic tile, the building façades decorated by patterning colored bricks, or adding pigment to the mortar, or plastering in large, shallow recesses to paint frescoes or inset tiles to create mosaics. Silk curtains fluttered in windows and it seemed like _everyone_ rode on horse, the few pedestrians going no further than a few doors in either direction. There were fountains in the evenly-spaced large squares, not very dramatic but clearly for public use with their large basins, inset benches for sitting, and worn indents on the outer lip where people had ignored the benches in favor of sitting on the stone to scoop water to drink or to rinse their hands.

Ordon Khot wasn’t a vigorous city like Cíbola had been, or severely elegant like the Court of the Tylwyth Teg. It was well-used and lived in; an ancient but still-working city. The atmosphere reminded Arik of Martinach, and he hoped that someday, once the construction was done, it too would settle in its bones like Ordon Khot and face the progression of centuries with the same quiet determination.

The city sprung a surprise on them after they’d been at Court for some days, going out riding in the lightly-farmed surrounding plains and hawking with the household. They returned mid-morning one day from a dawn excursion to find the successive large squares crowded with stalls and merchant wagons and areas blocked out by blankets with the seller’s wares spread over them, people selling food and clothes and jewelry and furniture and horses and livestock and seed and tools and weapons and just about everything Arik could think of in Honalee, including some very highly-priced items from Chicomoztoc or Polí Thálassas or the Hills- even _Earth-_ he could have had much cheaper in Nysa.

“This is our Summer Fair,” one of the courtiers explained to him. “The Steppes are a wide place, with many different peoples and land that is technically ungoverned by any King. This is where they can all come to obtain what they cannot make or find themselves. It is closer than Nysa- and very few leave disappointed. The Khan buys up what will sell abroad and sends it to Quiviria or Kūnlún, where the factors buy it from _him_ and sell it in their own lands, or send it on again to Nysa.”

So they spent the rest of the day roaming the Fair, mostly just taking a look around. The Hunt’s Kroner and Franken were good to the _Konsmass_ standard his _Elti_ had set for Honalee, and they got back change in the same mess of coins from varying mints that they would have in Nysa.

By the end of the day Arik felt a bit sorry for Luisa and Vasco. It hadn’t taken long for people to catch onto the fact they were Jäger- the uniforms were strikingly different than anything else in Honalee or Earth for a reason, and the Hunt’s stag head was repeated on various portions of it once you looked- and they immediately became everyone’s go-to to resolve disputes. The two of them were worn ragged by the end of the day from mental and social exhaustion, neither of them prepared, accustomed, or really holding the authority to do what the Fairgoers wanted from them.

The next morning, taking the letter that Luisa had written to his _Elti_ about the urgent need for a Hunt detachment in Ordon Khot for at _least_ the duration of the Summer Fair to the train station to have it passed on a relay of station officials until it hopefully ended up in Nysa and from there to the Jagdshall, Arik passed Ulrik coming out of the room the Khan had given Marlies to stay in.

He’d seen the things his friend had bought at the Fair the day before- jewelry, mostly- and he could smell the perfume the prince had bought for Marlies in La Canela on his clothes. They were the same ones he’d been wearing the day before.

“I’m pretty sure she’s decided she wants to marry me,” Ulrik muttered as he tried to edge awkwardly away and back to his own room.

Arik resisted breaking out in a wide grin until Ulrik was gone, then knocked on Marlies’ door and used the excuse that he needed some paper to write a quick addendum note to Luisa’s letter about the wisdom of establishing an actual postal service to get in give her unconcealed, knowing looks.

Marlies glared at him until he left.

The others were mostly happy to leave Ordon Khot, which they didn’t _dislike_ so much as find not particularly interesting, Fair excluded. They followed one of the caravan trails east across the Steppes to Lanka Kubera, nestled in yet another mountain range at the mouth of what would have been a natural pass, except for the giant metal wall built across it. The structure was _massive,_ looming over the city to the height of over a thousand feet.

“Where did they get that much steel?” Terenzia asked, staring up at it as they approached, sounding rather intimidated.

“I’m more worried about why they _built_ it in the first place,” Ulrik said.

King Rāvaṇa smiled broadly when they asked him about it, deep in his fortress-palace that backed against the wall itself.

“We have absolutely no idea,” he admitted cheerfully. “As far as anyone knows, it was there when Kubera himself was first granted the charter to this portion of the Parvata range by Ereshkigal and built the city. All the stories tell us is that there is danger beyond, and the Raksaka Parvata and the wall protect us from it.”

“Well that’s very vague,” Ulrik said.

“Surely you have your own old stories whose specifics have been lost?”

They admitted this was true, and told him some of them. They didn’t notice that King Rāvaṇa had had someone writing it all down until the woman stood up from her tucked away seat and closed her book.

“We are great believers in knowledge and philosophy, here in Lanka Kubera,” the King told them. “Come- why don’t you see my library?”

Calling it a _‘library’_ was an egregious lie- it was a _series_ of libraries, each four stories tall, two above ground and two below, packed with scrolls and books and prints and schematics and folios of loose letters and drawings and maps. The last library was about four-fifths full.

“Oh Lord,” Terenzia whispered when they stopped at the end of the connecting enfilade and stared through the series of open doors down the distance they’d just walked. “We’re never getting out of here, are we?”

“My father told me that Lanka Kubera was the history-keeper of Honalee, when _his_ father was Jagdsprinz,” Odette said, awed. “But I never imagined anything like _this._ ”

She turned to their host and bowed, deeply, in respect. 

Luisa, sounding painfully resigned, asked if there was a section on magic. King Rāvaṇa was happy to point out that the filing system meant that there were _multiple_ sections on magic, each divided by specialty, and whatever she wanted, the reference librarians would do her best to find for her.

“We’re going to have to be in here as much as possible,” Vasco told the rest of them glumly.

“Why?” Marlies asked. “It’s very impressive, and I know _I_ want a good look around, but I’m certain there are things to see in the city as well.”

“Yes,” Vasco said. “But if we go back to Martinach and _Papà_ finds out that we didn’t take any notes for him-”

“We’d better not do that,” Luisa said. “I’d rather not hear what Zaubkommandant Agresta would have to say about it. Or the Jagdsprinz. The Marshal’s Staff is going to throw a _fit_ when she rearranges everyone to come do research here. Half of them will be intensely disappointed if they can’t go, and the other half will complain for days about the mess the restructuring makes.”

 Arik, who knew very well how much his _Elti_ was always starved for information on Honalee and the duty she owed it, could only agree. They might have only had a little more than a month to glean as much as they could from Lanka Kubera’s libraries, but they _were_ going to spend some time doing other things, as well.

He found that it was mostly him, Ulrik, and Marlies who went out into the city. Luisa, Vasco, and Terenzia were always at the books, and Odette enjoyed shutting herself up with King Rāvaṇa and his philosophers and artists. Ulrik and Marlies drifted away from going out into the city after ten days or so, preferring to join her in her exploits in the fortress-palace, but Arik just couldn’t find it distracting for very long.

Up on the wall was much more interesting. There were soldiers posted to it, watching the mountains beyond day and night. Arik found out that there _were_ people who had gone out into the peaks and crags of the Raksaka Parvata range, but no one who had gone more than three mountains from the wall ever came back.

Arik took to the skies as a dragon, and, perhaps irrationally, stayed within the three-mountain limit.

The soldiers thought this was a wonderful trick, and word got back to King Rāvaṇa, and Arik was obliged to spend an entire day shut in with the historians, explaining his life and parentage and everything he’d learned about his abilities to be written down and entered into the libraries. After he’d given them all he knew, he was handed off to a _different_ set of library employees, the military researchers. They wanted to know about guns.

Arik didn’t really know anything about guns, and said as much. But he described what he knew about modern ones, and mentioned that he’d heard about some ‘Navin Technologies prototypes’ from  Terenzia and Vasco, and then _they_ were pulled from their library scouring to talk about Cassiel Navin’s foray into laser guns. They weren’t _really_ lasers, apparently, actually plasma pellets- but maybe they _were_ lasers? Terenzia and Vasco didn’t really know, just that there was magic involved somehow.

The military researchers let Arik go and gave him some of Lanka Kubera’s guns to take back to the Jagdsprinz. They seemed to be just gunpowder rifles, but when Arik tested one out, the _bang_ of igniting powder was accompanied by a sparking, fizzling sort of feeling in the ambient background magic around him.

One of the wall guard soldiers explained it to him, pouring some of the powder out into her palm and sifting it flat with her finger.

“The powder is mixed with wood ash and bone dust ground from bones dried by being packed in salt,” she told him. “You can use different woods to get different effects, but mostly we burn elder or willow. Holly is good when you get it, too, but we have to trade for that and it’s expensive. The smoke from the powder going off lays magic on the area it touches, which will mostly be the one firing the gun or the people next to them. With the elder and willow and holly, that’s protection. The mix is also strongly _anti-_ magic, so it can keep magic attached to the bullets from accidentally coming off and affecting whoever’s carrying them. The mages use it for other things, too, but I’m not really sure what. You’d have to ask them.”

Arik told Luisa about all of this, and she got the reference librarians to pull all the information they could on Kuberan powder and what you could do with it. It was apparently very versatile.

In the end, they stayed too long in Lanka Kubera, putting off leaving day by day to take more notes or talk more with the philosophers and historians and artists that the seasonal storms were brewing on the Sea between them and Hawaiki, which was supposed to have been their next stop.

They finally extracted themselves from the city with bundles of paper heavy in their bags and rode south down the feet of the Raksaka Parvata to the Sea coast, where they could get passage on one of the Kūnlún junks that once again traded along the coastal settlements of the land that wasn’t really the Steppe any longer, by that point, but didn’t have anywhere else to feasibly belong to.

“You know,” Odette said, after walking around the ship and inquiring about how fast it usually went and the different sizes and designs. “I bet you could sail one of the big ones out of Kūnlún along to the Raksaka Parvata and then to Hawaiki, make a stop in Kitezh to top off your hold, and then unload at the mouth of the Celadon and get cargo to Nysa that way.”

“Except there’s no anchorage or harbor at the mouth of the Celadon,” Arik pointed out. “Just cliffs.”

Odette shrugged.

“It’s something to think about. If no one can come up with any ideas for the Celadon then maybe unload on the Mountain side of the Ífingr delta. It wouldn’t be hard to ship overland through Lintukoto to the Huntsroad to Nysa, if the road was expanded.”

“Or up to a station on a rail line from Paititi to Nysa,” Marlies suggested.

Weather and wind sent the junk veering away from the coast and docking in Kitezh. This wasn’t really a setback, since Kitezh was supposed to be part of the journey anyway, and they couldn’t get to Hawaiki- but they got a nasty surprise when they went up to the palace. Kaschei Perun was surprised to see them, not because they were early, but because they were _four months late._ It was early October in Martinach, Empress Xī Wángmŭ was due to give birth sometime in the next three weeks, and Amphitrite Kataiis would be arriving in Kitezh in a week.

Somewhere between leaving La Canela and arriving in Kitezh port, they had lost an _entire four months._ The only reason no one had panicked was because Luisa’s letter about the Ordon Khot Summer Fair had gotten to Nysa, so they knew they had made it that far.

 _‘I guess the time isn’t as stable between Earth and Honalee as we thought,’_ Arik wrote in his quick letter to Martinach to reassure everyone. _‘We didn’t notice a thing, even though we did spend a lot longer in Lanka Kubera than we should have. Luisa had everyone help her take a bunch of notes from the library for Signor Agresta, and we’re sending those along with this letter. King Perun says that you’ll be in Kūnlún for the birth party, so we’ll see you there. I’m sorry we worried you, Elti.’_

Arik and the others used their time in Kitezh to relax and not do too much, doing short excursions out to the city when they felt like it. They weren’t going to get to Póli Thálassas, either, though Arik had been the only one who hadn’t been worried about it, being able to shape change into water animals. They’d been assured they’d be able to breathe, but still.

The high point of the fortnight they stayed in Kitezh was the reception for Queen Amphitrite, where Ulrik and Marlies officially told everyone else that they were going to get married, even though their traveling companions had already figured that out. Queen Amphitrite seemed especially pleased with the news and started subtly lecturing Ulrik, which was a little confusing until they realized that she considered Marlies _family,_ being Venice’s granddaughter, and was trying to look out for her.

Arik wondered what that made him to her, but didn’t ask.

* * *

The news that Empress Wángmŭ had given birth to a daughter, Chénguāng, who would be Crown Princess of Kūnlún and, someday, Empress after her mother, came at the end of October. King Perun, Queen Amphitrite, Arik, Ulrik, and the others traveled to Kūnlún together for the celebration, which was a massive event taking up most of the capital. Empress Wángmŭ was the third-oldest King of Honalee, after Ereshkigal herself and Amphitrite, and the only one of the three who had an heir.

“I have had children,” Queen Amphitrite told the Jagdsprinz when she arrived. She’d strategically replaced herself to get there before anyone else, even Arik and Luisa, who were waiting for her, and was trying for some pleasant conversation. “But Arion is not suited to Póli Thálassas, Kore has her own place, and Dānu is long dead. Now that Venice has returned to me, I may yet have more children.”

“Hm,” his _Elti_ said noncommittally, her face tightening around her eyes as she tried not to show her opinion of that.

“They would be your siblings,” Queen Amphitrite assured her. “And they would live much longer than Gisela or Heinrich. You would not be bereft of them for millennia, likely.”

 _“Elti,”_ Arik said, interrupting the conversation by practically flinging himself at her for a hug. Queen Amphitrite was forced to move off to be polite as his _Elti_ hugged him back, hard.

“The only time I’ve been more scared was the first time in the House, when demons were new and I didn’t know a thing about magic,” she told him quietly, refusing to let go. “I kept thinking maybe I’d lost you.”

“We were okay, _Elti_ ,” he promised. “The whole time. I’m sorry you were worried, but we didn’t _know._ ”

“I know you didn’t,” she said, letting him pull back a little. “We’ll have to look into that time dilation issue. And I-”

_“Mosè?”_

Arik looked up and saw Luisa’s brother in the Hunt’s uniform, the square gold patches on either side of his high jacket collar bearing the embroidered red _‘M’_ of the Marshal’s Staff.

“Hey, Luisa,” he replied to his sister, shifting nervously a little in place even as he smiled. She stood still a moment more, then closed the space between them to grab his hands. Arik was struck by the apparent age difference between them- Luisa still _looked_ eighteen, but was two years older than her brother, who was now perpetually thirty.

“ _Papà_ can’t have been happy,” she murmured, looking him over. “Almost a decade of studying and practicing law and you follow me to the Hunt? Why?”

“I finally found what I wanted to do,” he said. He certainly did look a lot more focused than Arik could remember him being. The uniform lent him a purpose he hadn’t had before- he looked comfortable and at ease in the black and gray.

“He wanted to join and I needed lawyers,” Arik’s _Elti_ said, grinning like she’d gotten some sort of prize. “And I know just what to do with him, too. I’m sending him to Lanka Kubera, to follow up on your work in the libraries. I’ve got some others off of the Marshal’s Staff to go along who will stay and work with the librarians and researchers while I hire some people and get any humans who really want the job trained up in the language enough to assist.”

“We figured you’d do something like that,” Arik told her as Mosè started telling his sister about what she’d missed the past nine months in Honalee. “It’s going to take a _really_ long time, though, _Elti._ Decades.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got time then,” the Jagdsprinz said. “I can assume that you’ll want to share it?”

 _Twenty-five **years**_ he’d told her he wanted to be in the Hunt, and she was _still-_

Twenty-five years. 

His _Elti_ reached into Arion’s saddlebags and pulled out a Golden Apple, holding it out to him.

“Happy birthday.”


	3. Italy

The Wild Hunt had been in Martinach for twenty-seven years and two months, and now they were having a routine General Staff meeting.

Almost three decades of growth- in numbers as new volunteers came to join up, in organization as the Hunt’s officers multiplied and the command hierarchy grew more complex, in physical space as the Teufelhaus was converted to the new Jagdshall and the clearing around it expanded as the building was added to and a network of roads was set up between it and the stables and Sebastianhaus and Barrackstown and Sankt Michelmarc’s and Martigny down below- had left the Hunt with no choice _but_ to have regular meetings of the General Staff.

The number of Jäger in the Regiments was now forty-five hundred, with the rather-overworked Hilfstruppen and the Zauberen and the Marshal’s Staff fielding their own members to the duties of administration and research- rather than to the Regiments’ jobs of policing the markets, acting as customs officials, patrolling the Jägerskov, being called to run down criminals and investigate crime, and serve as a troop reserve for Honalee- to round the complete total of Jäger to somewhere around forty-eight hundred. It was a much bigger operation than it had been under the Erlkönig, and they were starting to outgrow Martinach. Even the split of the Regiments into two Brigades- Martinach and Ordon Khot- two years previously had only relieved the pressure, not solved the problem. Aside from outright purchasing land from the VRG, there was nowhere else to go Earth-side. Honalee-side, they still had some, but the Jägerskov was home to its own people who had been there before the Hunt had come to stay.

“Our books are in order,” Diana opened the meeting with. “We’re working on the taxes from Nysa right now, but shouldn’t be in any difficulty. I would suggest that we think about replacing our vehicles though- they’ve aged enough that they’re getting a little too expensive to maintain.”

“I’d like to second that suggestion,” Stablemaster Evridiki said. She was in charge of the Hunt’s horses and Hounds, and so their small pool of mechanical conveyances fell under her purview by default. “They’re too useful to have always breaking down like this.”

“Do you have any suggestions about what to replace them with?” Nia asked.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t,” Diana told her. “I have the list with me, if you want to see it.”

“Give it to me after the meeting. I’ll probably have to ask you questions about it. Did you already look at it, Evridiki?”

“Of course I did, Jagdsprinz. The reports I’ve been given on quality lead me to approve of it.”

“All right,” Nia said. “You stay after with Diana and we’ll take a look. Anything else from Finance and Supply?”

“No, Jagdsprinz,” Diana told her.

“Stables and Kennels?”

Evridiki shook her head.

“Leutnant Klein, anything to report?”

“Things are very slow,” the woman in charge of Basic and Officer’s Training said. “No new recruits lately, but we don’t really need any more for the scope of the operations we have. I’d suggest putting a freeze on hiring for anyone but Legal or External Affairs until the train lines are resolved. I assume that we’ll be called on to guard the stations and run the post.”

“We will be,” Nia told her. “Do you think it would be more or less efficient to have the train and post as a separate specialty?”

“It would be easier for us to work with that,” Kommandant Leontiy Yurivitch, the Buyanov man who headed the Logistics department of the Marshal’s staff, said. “It would be a small service, but it would prevent trying to take squads out of the companies to post them where their skills aren’t particularly useful.”

“If it’s going to be a specialty service,” Leutnant Klein continued. “Then I think it would be good to bifurcate it. Have one deal with the post, taking it out to the places where the train lines don’t reach. They should be the most like a Husar regiment, lightly-armed and on a fast horse. For the stations I would focus on taking Jäger who know something about engineering, maybe even hire a few steam and mechanics engineers outright, so in case something goes wrong they can deal with it on their own.”

“Hiring engineers could be expensive,” Diana put in. “But if they know about mechanics then we can change the vehicles from Stables and Kennels over to them. Not that you’re doing a bad job, Evriki, but you just don’t know anything about modern vehicles.”

“I know horses,” the Thálassian woman agreed readily. “I _like_ horses. Automobiles are interesting, and I have learned enough to operate them, but they will never be horses.”  

“It would save us money not having to outsource repairs, right?” Nia asked Diana.

She shrugged.

“In the long run, probably. In the short term we’d have to build a garage, or buy one in Martinach, but that’s a jurisdictional issue we could probably do without.”

“If it means we get things repaired more quickly and without so much money, I think we can convince Legal and External Affairs to handle it.”

“I’d handle it even if you didn’t ask me to,” Mosè said, cheerful at the idea of tackling the tangle of precedent that was the Hunt’s relationship with Martigny and the VRG.

“Martigny would be _ecstatic_ for us to have more presence in the area,” Arik added. “We’re mutually beneficial to each other’s economies. Even if Stuttgart doesn’t like it, the _Président_ will try to push it.”

“I don’t see what good that would do us,” Nia said. “She’s only a municipal authority.”

“They could threaten to secede,” Arik told her, clearly pleased with the idea.

“I don’t think they’d go that far.”

Mosè brightened.

“Articles 20 to 22 of the Tripartite Treaty allow for the free movement of people between Earth and Honalee and the rights of residency and citizenship of any individual who can fall under the purview of the one of the signatory Parties under the terms of any of the other Parties. There’s nothing _stopping_ them if they wanted to become citizens.”

“And I don’t see why they wouldn’t want to,” Arik added.

“They’re within the territory of another country, for one,” Nia reminded her son and her nephew. “They’d have to move and we don’t have anywhere to put them.”

“We could buy the city,” Mosè suggested.

“We don’t have that kind of money,” Nia said. “Leutnant Klein, thank you for your suggestions. Kommandant Yurivitch, Kommandant Beilschmidt, look into Chicomoztoc’s engineers. See if any of them would be interested in joining the Hunt to work on the trains, once the lines have been run.”

“Jagdsprinz,” Lord Hiruz said. “If the citizens of Martigny own the land upon which their houses and businesses are constructed, as I have been led to believe, then may they and we not simply _declare_ that it said land is ours by virtue of their becoming our citizens?”

“It’s an interesting idea-” Mosè began.

“We are _not_ buying Martigny and we are _not_ going to plan how to take it over,” Nia cut him off. “What did your father _teach_ you, Mosè, for God’s sake.”

“I promised him I’d look after you and Luisa when he couldn’t,” Mosè told her. “And helping you secure a legally air-tight power base is the best use of my abilities to do so, unless someone decides to sue you.”

 There was a moment of silence to honor one of the head of Legal department’s moments of utter sincerity; and also to give the emotional weight of it enough time to diffuse before moving on. Some of the Leutnants shifted a little uncomfortably in the quiet, the Jagdsprinz’s family not usually being a topic that could be brought up without some issue.

“Martinach Brigade,” she said tersely into the quiet room. “Status report.”

Leutnant Ruăn actually stood up from her seat to give it. There were three Dragoner regiments, four Husar regiments, and two Reiter regiments to go through, so it was rather long and dry- repetitive. The Hunt wasn’t doing much but the normal business of guarding and policing the markets in Nysa and Dranse and running patrols, which were more to keep in practice than because anyone was worried about trouble in the Jägerskov. Maybe in other places criminals would try to hide in the woods, but not here.

“The Valais Gendarmerie seem to be responding favorably to our _‘exchange program’_ ,” she reported. The Hunt had been sending members out to study and work with the local police to get a better feel for cooperation and foster relationships between Martinach and the surrounding area. In turn, the police learned about how the Hunt operated. It was smoothing over some of the jurisdictional and personnel issues that had been born out of the first five years or so. “The Sûreté are less enthusiastic, but the Jäger who have stuck with them have been readily accepted once they learn that they _are_ actually there to learn how to collect evidence and conduct investigations.”

“No one tell them our Legal department wants to annex one of their district capitals,” Nia remarked dryly. “It would be a shame to make them think we were all _imperialists_ in addition to being _‘heretics to the just rule of law’_.”

There were some chuckles around the table. Mosè just grinned.

Nico didn’t stand to give his report on his subordinates, which wasn't much of anything in the first place, anyhow. The Zauberen were a tiny group, who had just managed to make fifteen members when Vasco had joined the Hunt. Honalee might have been saturated in magic, but people who specialized in doing it, and were willing to do it for the Hunt, were a rare sort. The relevant parts were almost always at the end, when he diverged into updating everyone on the Workshop’s reports.

“I’d advise against buying any of Navin Technologies’ LP series guns,” he said. “I know they’re going dirt-cheap for the technology involved and they’re centuries ahead of anything else in the field and _‘represent an expanding of scientific horizons to regions previously thought nothing but overenthusiastic fantasy’_ -”

“What else is new?” Diana muttered. Cass had come down to Martinach himself to deliver some of the first run of his reverse-engineered and modified energy guns from the old junk alien technology the Pict would dump on him sometimes, free of charge as a sales pitch. It had been the first time Diana had met the man, and it had left an impression.

“-and the richer armies are buying them up like they’re about to go out of style for their military engineers to fawn over, and to get in on the arms race that he’s started as early as possible, but we finally managed to get a handle on them last week.”

Everyone started to pay more attention. The Honalenier officers were keen on the idea that there were human weapons that so closely resembled the effects of the offensive war-magic from their historical stories, and the human officers had grown up on science-fiction laser and plasma guns. Everyone wanted to know about the LP series.

Nico reached under the table for the small bag he’d brought with him and unrolled the cloth he’d been storing some of the component parts in out on the table.

“The secret’s magic, of course,” he said, holding up the variation of Navin Technologies’ patented mancer converter that had been made for this model of gun. “It always is, with him. We _still_ have no idea why these converters _work,_ because they should produce incredibly erratic results in the hands of non-magical humans. There’s enough background magic to make it work, but _gathering_ it- he clearly knows something we don’t.”

That was a little disappointing, but unsurprising. Honalee’s mages and sorcerers weren’t having any more luck with working out the mancer converters than human scientists were. Common consensus in Honalee held that King Andvari would know just by looking at it, but nobody was expecting him to say anything one way or another.

“We’re still not entirely sure about the science side of them, either,” Nico continued. “We’ll leave that to people with labs and funding to figure out. But _basically_ what seems to be happening is that there’s a power pack that loads like an ammunition clip-”

He put the converter back on the cloth and flipped open one of the sides of the black vented casing that had been pried off of the pack, revealing a maze of thin, densely packed metal wires and circuitry.

“-and generates or stores the whatever-it-is that the guns use as ammunition, and when you pull the trigger it forces it up through the converter, which has gathered magic to form a- the best way to think of it is a thin film, over the hole in the converter. Once a certain amount of ammunition has been pushed through the hole, the _‘film’_ seals itself shut behind the ammunition and it gets shot. The rate-of-fire isn’t machine-gun levels, but you can set it for better than one shot to one trigger pull if you switch out the converters. There’s a mechanism.”

“I thought they were plasma guns, or something?” Nia asked.

“No,” Nico said. “That’s what people were saying, because they couldn’t think of what else it could be, but it’s not. We do know what it’s _like-_ it’s hot; hot enough so that when we took the converter out of one of the guns and pulled the trigger remotely the entire thing melted into glowing sludge and took the mount we’d made and the table it was sitting on with it. We timed it and, when left free, the sludge will persist for two or three minutes before burning up or cooling off. We’re not actually sure which one it does, but it goes away. The sludge might be a little bit magical too, but that might be interference from the film. We know the film makes the _‘bullets’_ glow blue-green when it’s at the one-shot setting and orange-yellow when it’s on the multi-shot one. The free sludge glows a sort of icky yellowy-white. Sparkles a little bit too. It’s pretty disgusting. I’m just happy that the bullets disappear faster than the free sludge does, and doesn’t ricochet once it hits something.”

“That seems like a good reason to buy some,” Leutnant Klein said. “They’d be dangerous, sure, but so are regular bullets, and those can go all sorts of places you don’t want them to.”

“Except a good portion of our Companies use Kuberan powder for their secondary firearm,” Nico pointed out. “And the ones that don’t usually have a supply on them to use against mages, just in case. If people start shooting with them or throw the powder, and the smoke or powder gets in the gun vents, the converter stops working because of the anti-magic properties in the powder and suddenly the gun goes to slag in the hands of whoever’s holding it. It’ll completely destroy flesh and bone- we bought some meat on the bone and tested it in the Workshop after we melted the table. If we arm our people with them, we’d either have to give up the Kuberan powder or make _absolutely certain_ that the forces with the two different types are never in the same area.”

“Impossible,” Leutnant Ruăn said.

“Exactly,” Nico agreed. “Hauptmann Costa had a nefarious idea to do with this phenomenon that I’m obligated to pass on. There are plenty of places online where you can find instructions for spring-loaded glitter bomb that can be blown with a tripwire. Usually they’re used for pranks, but…”

“If we ever have occasion to seed an area with tripwire bombs filled with Kuberan powder against people with the LP guns, we should absolutely do so,” Dariya advised. Technically, being the Leutnant in charge of the Marshal’s Staff meant that her Kommandanten- Leontiy, Mosè, and Arik- didn’t need to be there, but she liked to let them speak for themselves.

“I imagine it would be simple to add some sort of device to explode the bomb remotely, or on a timer,” Leontiy said. “Something mechanical.”

“Digital would probably be better,” Arik said.

“I enjoy this concept,” Leutnant Ruăn told them, a satisfied smile on her face. “A simple solution to a problem of being technologically outclassed. Elegant and beautiful.”

“So we shouldn’t buy any,” Nico concluded, folding the parts away into the cloth again. “They’re not worth the trouble.”

Diana thought about it, frowning.

“What about our armor?” she asked. “The Dragoner and Husar Regiments’ armor can withstand knives and certain bullets. The Reiter armor is good enough for a variety of blades and a larger caliber of bullets, but if the LP ammunition can _melt_ through it, it’s not going to do us any good if we have to go up against anyone with them.”

“It’s only when there’s free sludge that things melt,” Nico said. “The bullets will burn into you through Kevlar and cloth and leather before evaporating, _but-_ ”

He grinned suddenly, anticipating the wonderful irony everyone else was about to learn of.

“-we found out that plate, treated properly, will flatten out the bullet and skim it across the surface of the armor, dissipating it. We destroyed a lot of plate figuring it out- sorry Diana- but we think it’s something about the reflective qualities of properly-polished metal and the magic film. It _seems_ like maybe how the bullets work is that the magic film gets disrupted when it comes in contact with something, and then ammunition has a second or so to eat at whatever its hit before evaporating, but when the film comes in contact with the metal, the magic breaking keeps the ammunition from contacting the armor. Deflecting spells with silver or steel-backed mirrors or trapping them in glass is something we already have information on, so it would make some sense that steel plate could do something like reflect the broken magic to form a protective layer between the ammunition and the plate.”

He paused for a moment before continuing.

“Some of the other Zauberen think that the Law of Preconception has something to do with it too- you know, steel plate, cancels out magic in fantasy stories. But I’d have to ask Lana about that, since that’s really her specialty.”

 “I can’t believe it,” Leutnant Klein said, leaning back in her chair. “We have a justification to issue plate armor.”

“Probably not _full_ plate,” Nico cautioned. “You’d have to fit everyone personally and that would get very expensive very fast. But standard-sized partial plate for the Reiter Regiments and tightly-joined brigandine for everyone else, like some of them already have, should work fine. The big problem is that treating the metal is time-intensive, but the guns are still new and while there are countries that have bought in bulk, they’re not being sold for civilian use yet. So we’ve got time, unless someone is planning on trying to attack us with a surprise invasion.”

“We would have heard about it if they were,” Nia said confidently. “The Nations wouldn’t let that happen without at least passing a warning through Zell. Who’s bought the guns in bulk?”

This was Arik’s department.

“America, no surprise there,” he said. “Great Britain and France. Canada and India and Australia. China and Russia, and Ásdís told me that Japan put an order in but those haven’t been delivered yet. The VRG hasn’t bought any yet, because the General doesn’t believe in egging on an arms’ race, but he probably doesn’t have a lot of choice _not_ to buy them, eventually. Italy bought the most, which is strange considering the state the government’s been in lately-”

“The Camorra,” Diana told him, scowling. “The Sicilian Mafia, ‘Ndrangheta, Sacra Corona Unita, Mala del Brenta- take your pick. They’ll all be taking their share out of the military stores.”

“I wish I surprised to hear that Italy bought a lot of the LPs,” Mosè said. “But the new coalition government is nasty, and they just got over all that rioting about the elections. I heard from _Papà_ that everyone is still really upset. Right now it’s just talk about how much they’re still not happy, but it’s probably not going to take a lot. I’d _hope_ that they wouldn’t turn the army out with these weapons on civilians, but…”

He just let the sentence trail off. Italy _had_ been in a bad way lately- the scheduled election had ended up with a collection of parties that couldn’t form a coalition, which meant _another_ election had to be done. The first one had been divisive enough, with lots of rhetoric-slinging on both sides about who was responsible for their particular region’s troubles, but the second one had been worse. There had been riots, lots of them. Pope Honorius V had spent his last days begging for peace, and with his death, the country seemed to have finally gotten the hint and quieted down. The new government had come in, and there was finally a coalition of parties, most of whom had gotten strong support in the northern regions and, rather strangely, Sardinia. The southern ones weren’t happy, but neither were the northern ones, so at least everyone was unhappy _together._

“The international travel warnings have been rescinded since Conclave is this week,” Arik told them. “Things should be quiet until that’s over, at least. And the break from public anger will probably do everyone some good.”

“Even if they weren’t, we would still be going,” Nia said. “Pope Honorius was good to us, and I don’t want to lose that relationship with his successor.”

“I’m sure the Vatican will tell him good things about us,” Arik assured her. “Stuttgart is complaining to me again, by the way. They’re still having trouble trying to decide whether to count the Swiss Jäger or not, or what to do with the drift across the official border, where some of our people have places in the city and some of the non-Jäger we hired for the bank and such live up here. And now they want to know if _‘fey’_ is really the term they should use on the forms to register the children from the Honalee-Earth relationships; and if Honalenier should be the option on the forms or if it needs to be divided up by Kings.”

“They can’t figure this out themselves?” Nia demanded.

“And they want us to provide census forms in Trade Creole.”

“Like any of the people running the census would be able to _read_ it.”

The meeting went on.

* * *

Cristoforo could stand Conclave because of the crowds. Going out amongst them was the best thing he’d found to drown out the feeling of being _without,_ when a Pope died; and by the time the College of Cardinals was together and Conclave was entered, he was ready to forget the stripped-down workings of his state and lose himself in the faithful.

He left off his gloves for this- he wanted human contact, reassurance that everything would be all right. The people were more than happy to oblige him, offering prayers and asking blessings and some merely holding a few minutes’ conversation with their Church, marked out by the Pope’s white of his sash and his pellegrina trimming.

Usually, Cristoforo would stay in the crowds longer, but this time he had people to see.

Nia and the people she was bringing weren’t yet on the side of the Square they’d agreed to meet at, but Romano was, and looked like he’d been there a while. Technically, Cristoforo was late, and the other man made sure to comment on it.

“Are you certain you are all right?” Cristoforo asked his brother. “You look- sick.”

The riots were still worrying him. It would have been one thing if they had been born from protests about the government generally, about how it needed to be fixed and with suggestions about how to do it, but that wasn’t how they had sounded. It had been a lot of finger-pointing and name-calling about whose fault the state of the country was, everyone pinning the blame on another group across regional lines that ended in brawls and broken windows and, on some occasions, fire.

If only things hadn’t been so _messy_ and incoherent, they- himself, Romano, and Veneziano- would have been able to make some sense out of it and give advice to their governments. Whether or not they would take it would be another story entirely, but it would have meant they’d been able to do _something,_ at least. Maybe the root of the conflict was south against north, east against west, urban against rural- they just couldn’t tell, and no one else seemed to be able to, either.

“The government’s still arguing,” Lovino muttered. He’d made an effort to look as put-together as he usually did, but he hadn’t managed to shave properly and seemed like he hadn’t slept in too long. “They put on a front of solidarity after the Pope died, but behind closed doors they’re still arguing just as much as during the riots. The coalition is shaky and I had to drag one of the deputies off another one in the hallway this morning.”

“They are brawling in the _Parliament?_ ” Cristoforo asked, aghast.

“I can’t _stand_ it,” Lovino told him. “Being there. I went back to Naples before lunch because I couldn’t even sit in my own damn office without feeling like there was someone lurking behind me, watching, just _waiting_ for the right time to pull the trigger. Feli didn’t even come in, the bastard, even though I was cleaning up his shit for him.”

 “His _‘shit’_?” Cristoforo asked dryly, tempted to remind him again not to swear on the premises.

“His Lega Nord shit,” his brother said. “The fight in the hallway- it was one of _my_ guys beating up on one of the Lega Nord ones. And then the fucker _spat_ at me after I saved him from having to go to the hospital and said he only wanted help from _his_ Nation.”

“Feliciano does not even _like_ Lega Nord.”

“Yeah, well, _Venice_ hasn’t exactly been acting like part of a larger country,” Romano said bitterly.

It was an uncomfortable truth. It had been… ignorable, in the beginning. Allowable, because everything was new and diplomatic kinks were bound to happen. But then months went by, and Póli Thálassas didn’t send diplomats to Rome, and selkies and rusalka and nereids and vodyanoy and nixies and potameides and eleionomae and water horses and others, even sirens and merpeople, were seen in the marshes and canals of the Venetian lagoon and the waters of the north Adriatic coast, near the Venetian shore. There was no market, not like the Dranse in Martigny, but goods from Honalee found their way into the hands of street vendors, some human, some not, without true regulation or supervision.

When Cristoforo had been there last, in the beginning of December, the intermingling had come to such proportions that he had seen some young children, barely older than his eldest great-grandchild, leaning out over the side of a parked boat and talking to a nereid half in her own language, smiling when the nereid broke out in chittering laughter at the story one of them had told. The nereid had spotted him and Feli then, from where they stood on the walkway, and come over to greet Veneziano as King and consort to her Empress and Queen.

Cristoforo had asked why the Wild Hunt didn’t have some sort of presence in the city, after that. He’d thought it would be something about the city or national government, but instead Feli had looked at him and quietly said: _“I tried to talk to her. She won’t come.”_

He and Nia were going to have words about that, once she showed up.

“Feliciano has done too much for a unified Italy to let it fall apart,” he said to Lovino.

“He’s got _Amphitrite_ now,” Lovino said. “If he didn’t have Italy, he didn’t have _anything,_ before. But now he’s got somewhere to go. He’s got one of his Empire things back- and you _heard_ them, the Venetian nationalists with the protestors and the rioters.”

“A minority,” Cristoforo told him firmly. “Feliciano knows better. He has more with Venice _and_ Milan _and_ Genoa _and_ Florence, _all_ of northern Italy, being part of a _larger_ Italy, than he could ever have with just Venice, now. Venice was powerful because the Mediterranean was all the sea Europe and northern Africa and the Levant needed. The Atlantic and the Cape of Good Hope killed the power he had- simply being married to Amphitrite Kataiis will not be enough. The world has changed.”

“Yeah, and now the world’s changed again. Honalee-”

“Would Feliciano ever trade down?” Cristoforo interrupted gently. “Would he give up more power for less? Where would the _profit_ be in giving up Italy for Póli Thálassas when he could have _both?_ ”

Romano was quiet for a moment, then snorted softly.

“Point,” he conceded. “Now where the hell is Nia? _You_ were already late, and that’s only because you stop to talk to _everyone._ ”

“Text her and ask.”

“If she’s not at Sebastianhaus it won’t go through,” Lovino told him, irritated. “The space distortion fucks up wireless signals around the Jagdshall; and if I call it’ll just make her take _longer._ ” 

“They will come.”

They ended up waiting almost another half hour for Nia and the people she’d brought- Dariya, Arik, Nico, and Diana- to finally arrive. They came unobtrusively, unmounted, the rank decorations and obvious markers of their positions, such as the vibrantly red officer’s sashes and knives, hidden under the coats added to the uniform in the winter months. Nia had told Cristoforo before coming that she was there first as a Catholic, and second as a King who needed political introduction; and, furthermore, didn’t want to cause a scene by showing up in full state.

The Vatican could only approve of this attitude.

“Took you long enough,” Romano told his son, hugging him tightly. “You’ve been all right?”

“Running a government, _Padre,_ ” Nico reminded him. “Things come up.”

“You’re asking _us_ if _we’ve_ been all right?” Diana said to her father-in-law. “You look _terrible._ Have you been sleeping?”

“If everybody would _shut up_ in my head about how pissed they are, yeah, I _would_ sleep-”

Cristoforo took Nia by the arm and drew her off a few feet.

“Do you have some idea of who will be the next Pope?” she asked. “I’ve been following the predictions and analyses-”

“I have guesses,” he said. “And they are not for sharing. But we need to speak about Venice.”

He felt Nia stiffen.

“I _said_ I wouldn’t forgive him, and I _know_ you don’t-”

“I am not, at the moment, primarily concerned with the state of your soul,” Cristoforo said. “ _Why,_ Lavinia, is there no presence of the Wild Hunt in Venice? There is as much, if not more, overlap between Honalee and Earth there than in Martinach and Martigny. I know that you have split the Hunt to provide a permanent force for Ordon Khot and the business there and the Steppe marchlands- why not the same for Venice?”

“No one ever _asked_ me for one,” Nia told him. “You know what my practical limits are, _Vaticana_. In Honalee, I could just _send_ people. On Earth, that would be war.”

Cristoforo raised his eyebrows.

“Feliciano told me that he tried to talk to you.”

“If he meant he tried to _call_ me,” Nia said. “Then maybe he did. I wouldn’t know. I don’t pick up when it’s his number. And if it was email, I never saw it. I sent it up to delete things from his addresses automatically.”

_“Nia!”_

“I don’t want to talk to him!” she said hotly. “I don’t understand why people don’t _get_ that! I don’t want to _talk_ to him, I don’t want to _see_ him; and if I **_absolutely_** _have_ to, then it had better be a major international diplomacy or a crisis! Otherwise, if he’s got something I need to know, he can go to the External Affairs department, _just like everybody else._ ”

“It has been almost _thirty years,_ Lavinia. There are a generation and a half of people who have never lived in a world with a Germany, or without Honalee. You own _son_ doesn’t know his grandfather-”

“England and France couldn’t be in the same room without conflict for _eight hundred years,_ ” Nia said. “Thirty years to a relationship between Nations- between _Kings-_ is _nothing._ ”

“Your father was only married to Venice for twenty-four years,” Cristoforo pointed out, tone and expression carefully neutral. “It was invalid, yes- but it was nothing?”

There was a flash of hot anger across his niece’s face, and then it settled down into the colder, harder seething they had all gotten used to seeing when she was forced to think about her parents’ relationship.

Cristoforo sighed, internally. He could only hope for something different, someday- but the longer this went on, the more it seemed like it would require a miracle.

“If you refuse to speak to him in person,” he said. “Then send someone else to do it. Mosè would be a good choice, both in his position and growing up with Feliciano in and out of his home. Let them work something out, and then send some Jäger to watch over things. The little children are learning Thálassian the way they learn Italian, there are Honalenier goods being sold semi-legally in the streets, and I would be completely unsurprised to learn that there are fey children born there, maybe with little or no understanding of how their magic works. It would be easy to for the city to turn into a disaster waiting to happen, Jagdsprinz.”

It not sit well with him, the way saying _‘Jagdsprinz’_ and not _‘Lavinia’_ shoved her anger aside and replaced it with an expression of set determination to do her duty. He had seen the same thing, the same easy and immediate replacement of emotions and mental states, in Nations; their human names said in a warning tone or used as a simple address to bring them back from forgetting themselves in the pull of their people or government.

* * *

Their meeting time had been set for mid-morning, about ten o’clock, though Nia and the others had arrived closer to noon. Modern Conclaves were relatively short, usually spanning no more than one or two nights, and Cristoforo had made arrangements for the Jäger to stay either in the Vatican or in Rome, with his grandson Emanuele and his wife and five young children. The second option was more of a last resort than anything, in case more people arrived than expected, which hadn’t happened.

By four-thirty it was about an hour and a half to sunset and Cristoforo was trying to convince them to come to dinner at Gianna and Santino’s with him later that night, instead of staying out in the Square and eating there. He was about halfway to it when Lovino inhaled loudly and grabbed Nico’s upper arm, squeezing tightly enough to make his son flinch.

“ _Padre_?” he asked, trying to pry the Nation’s fingers a little looser. It didn’t seem like Romano heard him, the way he kept staring off into the distance, pupils sharply contracted.

Nia pressed a hand into Romano’s back.

“ _Napoli!_ ” she said sharply, and Romano jumped like he’d been shocked, momentarily letting go of his son. Nia and Nico moved at the same time to steady him as he started to go unsteady, and he slumped in their hold, knees going weak.

“Jagdsprinz?” Dariya asked, appearing at her elbow.

“ _Padre_?” Nico asked again, more worriedly than before.

“Jus’ help me sit down,” Romano said muzzily, blinking like he couldn’t focus his eyes, and they carefully lowered him to the ground. Once there, he listed sideways into leaning against Nico, who put an arm around his back as his father’s eyes closed.

Cristoforo knelt down in front of him, taking his hands.

“Lovino?” he asked. “How are you?”

“Like shit,” he muttered, not opening his eyes. “Dizzy. Muggy. Can’t- hm. Focus. _Think._ S’ like- head. Head thing. Brain.”

 “Concussion?” Diana suggested.

“Yeah.”

“There’s something wrong,” Nia said.She was examining him the Jagdsprinz’s closed, coldly calculating expression.

“Yes, wonderful, _so_ helpful,” Nico snapped. “ _Padre_? Come on, talk to us. What happened?”

“Dunno. Dunno any- a thing.”

“You do know something,” Cristoforo coaxed softly. “Your name and borders. We can work from there. Tell me what they are.”

“Dun- Don- Don’t know.”

“Relax, and let it-”

“I _don’t **know,**_ ” he said, voice strained as he opened his eyes to look at the Vatican, hands clenching on his brother’s. “Don’t know _where_ or _who-_ ”

“We’re at the Vatican,” Nico spoke quickly, fear clear in his voice. “The Vatican, in Rome, we’ve been here all day-”

“He’s not losing his memories,” Nia interrupted him. “And he’s not dying. Your _people, Napoli,_ think of your people.”

“Don’t know who they are,” he said quietly. “Don’t know my borders.”

“ _I’m_ your people,” Nico told him frantically. “ _Me;_ and Cato, and Ditta and Cenzo-”

“He’s _not dying,_ I said,” Nia cut him off.

“Nico,” Diana said, sitting down next to her husband to hold him as best she could. “Calm down. He’s going to be all right.”

“He shouldn’t _not know-_ even _Dietrich_ knew-”

“Dariya, Zaubleutnant Agresta needs to go _calm down,_ ” the Jagdsprinz ordered, and Dariya pulled him some distance away from the group. Diana took his place supporting Lovino.

“Lovino,” Cristoforo said, trying to get his attention. “Your name.”

“Lovino Agresta Var-”

“No, Lovino- your _name._ ”

He opened his mouth, looked suddenly bewildered, and then shut it again.

“Romano?”

Lovino shook his head.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know my own fucking name!” Lovino told him, sounding like himself in spite of the way his attention still seemed out of focus. It was a disturbing answer, but Cristoforo was going to take what good he could get out of it. Anger, from his brother, was a sign of normalcy. Normalcy was good.

“Your borders?” he asked. “What can you feel?”

“I- Naples,” Lovino said, a little uncertainly. “Yeah. Naples.”

“What else?”

“P… Portici. Pozzuli,” he said, naming nearby towns. “Casalnuovo, Afragola, Torre del Greco.”

“Any further?”

“Caserta. Salerno. Benevento. Mon…Mondragone? San Severo-”

He was sounding more sure of himself.

“Foggia. Bari, Brindisi, Taranta, Potenza; Cosenza Crotone Catanzaro-”

“What about Formia?” Cristoforo asked, naming one of the larger places, closer to the middle of Italy. Lovino had been trending south, his answers getting more confident the closer he got to Sicily. “Anzio? Chieti?”

The last one was cutting it, a little. Romano and Veneziano usually gave the division between the two of them as a line drawn from Rome on the west coast to Pescara on the east; but it wasn’t as clear-cut as that. Places like Tivoli and L’Aquila and Chieti fluctuated between who could feel them best.

_“I don’t-”_

“All right,” Cristoforo said soothingly. “All right. Where does it hurt?”

Lovino looked at him, confused.

“Hurt?”

“Something had to have happened, Lovino, for you to feel like this,” Cristoforo said. “So what has gone wrong? What has been hurt?”

“….Nothing?” Lovino said uncertainly. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just- it’s all fucking _wrong-_ ”

“Is there somewhere it is _more_ wrong? Naples, maybe?”

It was the most reasonable assumption he could come up with. Things always hurt Nations worse when they were in their heart-city, their capital or the place they’d started in. If nothing hurt, if no one was being attacked or there wasn’t a natural disaster, then the best explanation should have been something wrong in _his_ city.

And if he didn’t recognize Romano as his _name,_ maybe something had gone so seriously wrong that he’d been forcibly dragged back to old awareness, just Naples, not _-_

“No,” Lovino said. “No, no, Naples is-”

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and shoved himself upright, away from Diana.

“Fine,” he said, pressing his hands to either side of his head. “It’s-”

“ _Repubblica italiana,_ ” the Jagdsprinz said, suddenly.

“What?” Arik asked, and she waved a hand at him to be quiet.

“ _Repubblica italiana, romano,_ ” she said, staring at Lovino. “ _Due Sicilie_.”

“Lovino,” Cristoforo said, some hunch beginning to stir in the back of his mind. “Where’s Sicily?”

“Right where it always is!”

“You can feel it?”

“Of course I can!”

“But it’s not yours?”

“Of _course_ it’s not fucking mine!” Lovino was definitely feeling more like himself, snapping like that. He glared at his brother. “It’s Vespasiana’s, I feel it the way I always do, through her, like- like I’m remembering a dream I had about it, but it’s still _there-_ you _know_ how this works, why are you fucking _interrogating_ me about i-”

“ _Napoli_?” the Jagdsprinz asked.

_“What?”_

“Where’s Rome?”

“We’re sitting in it!”

“Where is it in your _mind?_ ”

“It’s not!”

“But it’s your capital-” Diana started to say.

“Like _hell_ it is!” Lovino cut her off hotly. “It’s _Naples,_ my capital is _Naples,_ Rome doesn’t mean _shi-_ ”

His eyes went wide as things started to fall back into place.

 _“Fuck,”_ he swore. _“Fuck;_ shit-fucking sons of _cheap-asses-”_

 _“Lovino,”_ the Vatican said warningly.

“Those northern _bastards!_ ” South Italy exploded, getting to his feet. _“They’ve kicked me out of the damn **Republic!** ” _

* * *

Nico didn’t want to be parted from his father, not when he was in trouble like that, but he couldn’t break away from Dariya. He could use magic on her, to push her away, but she’d just come after him harder, and it would be a fight.

They shouldn’t fight in the Vatican.

Dariya deposited him closer to the end of the square than the rest of the group had met at, at the open end of the colonnade, where she could put his back up against a column and stand in the way him going anywhere until he’d, as commanded, calmed down.

“Breathe,” she ordered.

“He shouldn’t _not **know,**_ ” Nico told her. “Even with the demon, they _knew_ who they were, where they were, who their people were and how-”

“And you cannot do anything about it,” Dariya said. “He is a King. You cannot touch his power.”

“I did before,” Nico said. “When I got shot. I got into his power and I felt his people. I- I can do it again, I can tell him-”

She shoved him back against the column.

“If there is a problem with his power then it is the _Jagdsprinz’s_ job to deal with it,” she reminded him. “They are hers to keep in life- will she shirk that?”

“No. _No,_ b-”

 _“Then,”_ Dariya cut him off. “As she is Jagdsprinz and will deal with it in her capacity as such, she will call upon the Hunt to solve the problem; if not _to_ Hunt then to provide the services of its Jäger. You _will_ be called if you’re needed, Nico. Now _breathe,_ and trust in your Prince.”

Nico tried; but all he could think of were the stories he’d been told about what had happened to Germany, in the UN, when Berlin caught on fire. _He’d_ gone vacant like that, _he’d_ collapsed, _he’d_ not known his children, his people-

And this was _worse,_ he didn’t know who he was a _Nation;_ what if he _was_ dying? What if something was _killing_ him, something new, something they hadn’t heard about, maybe some mage who’d recognized the power Mephistopheles had gotten from killing Kings and decided to try it for themselves-

If anyone was trying to kill his _Padre_ like that, _anyone,_ Nico suddenly knew, he’d _destroy_ them. This must have been how Nia had felt, when she realized the power being Jagdsprinz could give her to do the same.

But _who-_

“You hear that?” Dariya interrupted him after some uncounted time of stewing in his own thoughts. “King _Napoli_ is yelling at people. He’s fine.”

He _was_ yelling, and maybe that shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was. It was stronger and angrier than the yelling he’d grown up with, which was mostly yelling out of frustration or embarrassment at Spain, or his siblings, or his in-laws. Sometimes he’d been _really_ angry- but he’d never yelled at his children, and he always calmed down quickly and could be coaxed into a smile or an amused snort afterwards, so it was just a sign of life as usual. 

It would have been a relief, that yelling, if he hadn’t _finally_ taken his deep breath, refocused, and heard the rumbling off in the distance.

“What-”

They had a lot of time to see the mob approach, from over the Tiber.

It was no orderly thing, not like a march or even a protest group. It was fragmented, it had factions- the Carabinieri were one, looking divided themselves, one contingent leading the mob and the other skirting its’ outsides, warily, as they had in weeks past, waiting for a riot to erupt. It was traveling as a group, but not exactly a _mass-_ there were pockets of space dividing different sections of people, mysterious in their larger intent but all united in the same goal, the Square.

By the time they got there, Nico and Dariya had made their way to the back of the assembled Conclave crowd and stood with some of the more curious or alarmed of the pilgrims, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Hunters,” Dariya muttered to him, her eyes going a few shades brighter as one of the Carabinieri officers stepped forward to address the pilgrims. “No blood in the water yet- but soon.”

“Tell Nia?” he asked, and she faded away back into the crowd.

“The Parliament has reached a decision!” he called to the Square. “Our differences have proven too great, and the only solution has been implemented. As of fifteen minutes ago, the Italian government disavows any responsibility for the southern-”

 _“Like hell!”_ someone from further back in the mob yelled, interrupting him. _“ **They** kicked **us** out! Secessionists!”_

There were some shouted agreements, and some shouted rejoinders, and behind him the parts of the Square that could hear the Carabinieri officer and understand Italian erupted into noise; and then his father was standing next to him, and _oh no-_

 _“ON WHO’S FUCKING **AUTHORITY!** ”_  he screamed at the mob. _“WHO THE **HELL-** ”_

“Pierina Benivieni!”someone yelled.

“Elio Laganà!”

“Taddeo Motta!”

“Doriano Serpico!”

“Velia Muraro!”

“Gasparo Abatescianni!”

The only name that Nico recognized was Laganà’s. He’d been elected consistently, but not exclusively, in Naples for some years running, long enough that Nico could remember the man’s campaigning from when he still lived in Italy.

“ _Padre,_ ” he tried to say, but his father wouldn’t budge.

“Delegates and Senators!” South Italy yelled. “Who are _they_ to-”

“They elected a President!”someone shouted him down. “Abatescianni is President of Italy, and Benivieni is Prime Minister!”

_“It’s Laganà and Muraro, you shit-wallowing pig-fucking bigoted assholes!”_

Nico winced. This was the sort of thing he’d been dreading, a Bottegante confrontation writ large. It was one thing when it was a Camorra family against a Nation; but a Nation provoking a mob in the tentative neutral ground between it and a crowd-

 _“Padre,”_ he said urgently, grabbing him by the upper arms and trying to shove him away; but the Nation wasn’t having any of it.

_“Get the **hell** back to the Palazzi and tell the fucking **Lega Nord** that their self-righteous isolationist classist **bullshit** is about to come back an-”_

_“They stood outside Palazzo Madame and said it themselves! I **saw-** ”_

**_“THEY HAD NO AUTHORITY!”_** South Italy roared. “I _know_ they had no authority, because I didn’t damn well _tell them-_ ”

From inside the mob, someone screamed: “ ** _You!_** _Sud Italia! **Sud Italia!**_ ”

_“Get out!”_

“Rome’s _ours-_ ”

“Rome is Italy’s!” one of the fringe-Carabinieri yelled at the last speaker.

_“Which Italy?”_

“The _only_ Italy!” the fringe-Carabinieri officer yelled, and Nico felt a sudden surge of gratitude for him. “The _unified_ Italy-”

“Doesn’t exist!”

“This has gone on long enough!” the officer shouted to the mob. “We’ve been indulging you, now go-”

“Shut the hell up, Boerio!” the Carabinieri who had announced the separation of Italy cut him off. “We’ve got _orders_ from the government-”

“They’re _bad_ orders, Cantu!”

“ _We have orders,_ ”Cantu repeated, and turned to the Square crowd. “We have orders to evict all southerners from the city-”

The back end of crowd in the Square finally reacted, breaking from their previous following of South Italy against the mob to shout and yell in disapproval. There were television cameras pointed their way now, Nico saw, and he imagined the crowd further forward, further towards the Basilica, starting to turn and murmur in worry at the commotion.

“- ** _by force_** _if necessary!”_

“And how do you tell who’s _‘southern’_ , huh?” South Italy challenged. “What are you going to _fucking do,_ break down people-”

Cantu drew his pistol and Nico inserted himself into the space between them quickly.

“There’s no need for that!” he told Cantu, and tried, again, to push his father away. He was too angry to take the hint, the way he’d been too angry in the Neapolitan café to care what he said to the Camorra.

Cantu ignored him.

“We know _you’re_ southern already,” Cantu said coldly, eyeing South Italy. “We can start with you, and go from there.”

“Look, you’re not even in your jurisdiction,” Nico continued. “You’re in the Square. That’s the Vatican’s territory.”

“The Gendarmerie are coming, Cantu,” Boerio warned. The Vatican Gendarmerie _were_ coming, filtering through the colonnade, presumably on orders from the Vatican himself. Nico was relieved to see them- but if Dariya had gotten back to the group and the Gendarmerie were here now, what was Nia-

“Back off,” the man continued. The other Carabinieri officers that had been hanging around the fringes of the mob were starting to come forward slowly in an attempt to lend support, eyeing their compatriots with the mob warily as they went. “Let’s go back to the Palazzo and get this thing sorted ou-”

“It’s _already_ been sorted out,” Cantu said, raising his gun so it was pointing at Nico and South Italy. “They don’t belong here. If they stay, they’re trespassing.”

 _“Invading!”_ one of the Carabinieri in the mob yelled; and Nico felt his father try to push past him in rage to get at the man and tell him _exactly_ what he thought of that, so he turned to try and brace himself against the Nation and keep him from doing something _utterly_ stupid-

He saw Boerio try to check Cantu, to get his gun pointed down, but Cantu pulled the trigger and instead of using his weight as leverage against his father Nico felt the bullet go through his shoulder under the bone and plow through his armpit and chest behind the breastbone and hit a rib. He fell against his father, breathing blood and heart stuttering, vision starting to black out.

Nico heard the roaring- maybe from the mob, maybe from the crowd, but mostly from his father- and he could feel himself slipping.

He panicked.

It was different than it had been with the Camorra, it wasn’t the sudden catastrophic failure that had left him reeling, he had some seconds to process this, but he was _dying_ and he-

_-can’t no I can’t I can’t NO-_

-could feel the magic again, _see_ it, differently than the first time because he’d been studying it for twenty-seven years and was one of the few people on the planet who knew the basics of how it worked and when the automatic reach for magic happened, the desperate scramble for life and to reconnect to his body in the face of death, Nico could feel the land below him under the cobbled Square and the cobbles themselves and the way the earth ran against the Tiber and spread out under the city the streets and the houses and the bridges that funneled life carried magic directed power of all sorts in grids and lines and currents and-

Another gunshot three four more and he wasn’t being propped upright any longer he was falling to the pavement-

-the way the air channeled through the buildings and changed where it flowed over the Tiber and the birds that flew and the people that walked and there was every name every soul _burning_ against him like the stars had and the noise unbearably to his ears and his magic and South Italy was the worst of all everything all of it _concentrated_ and what Nico did was grab onto the magic his body was leaking from hurting it from damaging the connection that bound the body to the soul and there was a new noise another gunshot utterly deafening and distracting as it tore right by his ear as he tried to stand and his father _screamed-_

Nico came back to his body and struck out with his magic, blindly, before his thoughts had caught up to his self-preservation instincts.

* * *

“They’re arguing a lot,” Arik was reporting to Diana and Nia and Cristoforo when Dariya squeezed out of the crowd. His head was cocked at angle as he listened intently over the crowd, the only one able to hear properly. There were advantages to, technically, not being human at all- not that it did them any good when he was the only one of the group who didn’t know any Italian. “They’re… listing names? I don’t know any of them.”

“A mob, Jagdsprinz,” Dariya reported. “Police officers flanking, some with them, some guarding, I don’t know against what. They want a fight.”

The Vatican waved forward one of the Gendarmerie officers stationed nearby and requisitioned his radio, issuing orders into it quietly.

“What shall we do, Jagdsprinz?” Dariya asked.

Nia was scowling, thinking over the news.

“This isn’t Honalee,” she said. “Or Martinach, or Martigny. This isn’t our jurisdiction.”

“The Hunt’s jurisdiction is _everywhere,_ ” Arik said, affronted.

“I gave my word that Honalee and the Hunt would respect Earth governments-”

“And they promised to respect your authority in turn!”

“You’re speaking _out of place,_ Kommandant,” Dariya told him sternly. “Be silent.”

“All these people, though,” Diana said, gesturing to the crowd assembled for Conclave. “What if the mob gets out of control? Dariya said they wanted a fight- people are going to get hurt, and it’s a _mob,_ laws will get broken. Can we _really_ justify just standing here?”

“If it’s a choice between respecting the Tripartite Treaty and trying to keep people safe, we need to not overstep our boun-”

“We can’t _not-_ ”

“We enforce the law, Quartermaster!” the Jagdsprinz snapped. “We will not _violate_ it in the name of intervening where we would _escalate_ the situa-”

The sound of the first gunshot rang through the square, quickly followed by the second third fourth fifth-

Arik _snarled,_ bearing his teeth, head swinging around the unseen place in the Square the gunman occupied.

“ _Stand down,_ Kommandant!” came the order, and he was vibrating with the strain of not shape-changing and running down the shooter, eyes burning with the desire to _go,_ to do his duty as he saw fit.

_“Nia-!”_

The Jagdsprinz cut Diana off with a sharp gesture and looked at the Vatican.

“Christophorus Petrius, _Status Civitas Vaticanae et Sancta Sedes,_ ” she said. “Do I have leave?”

He blinked at her, wide-eyed, more concerned about the crowd in the Square, who had suddenly started to scream, not in anger but in alarm and fear.

“What?”

 _“Do you grant us jurisdiction, Vaticana?”_ the Jagdsprinz asked through clenched teeth. “By the terms of the Treaty I am to respect your government and authority as humanity has arranged it in absence of the Wild Hunt; but you are lacking a Pope and the situation has escalated, and by the same law the governments of Earth are to respect _my_ authority- and so Jagdsprinz to King _I ask as a courtesy, **do you acknowledge our jurisdiction?** ”_

Cristoforo glanced at the people in the Square, briefly.

“I do, Jagdsprinz,” he said. “Whatever you deem necessary.”

“Break it up, Kommandant!” she snapped, pointing at the open end of the Square where the mob faced the crowd. Arik sprung into the air, taking flight as a pigeon and flapping furiously for height. “Leutnant Agresta, back him up, make sure King _Napoli_ doesn’t manage to start a riot all on his own! Leutnant Dariya-”

Arion’s front hooves hit the cobblestones of the Square with a sharp _clop_ as he passed through the World Gate. He, the second member of the Hunt after the Erlkönig and the longest-serving Jäger ever, knew very well how to come when he was needed by his Prince, no matter what distance separated them.

“-back to Martinach,” the Jagdsprinz ordered her, swinging up into the saddle. She summoned the Helm, briefly, pulling it into existence long enough for her armor to form around her and her cape to settle on her shoulders before dismissing it again. This wasn’t a Hunt- not yet. If and when it got that far would be the appropriate time for the Helm. Not until then. “I want the Marshal and Kommandant Costa here _immediately_ with two or three Sections out of 1st Reiter and Zaubhauptmann Costa and whoever she deems necessary!”  

Dariya darted through the slight distorting shimmer in the air that was the only indication of the location of the World Gate. It closed behind her, and the Jagdsprinz drew her sword.

“I’d advise you to follow me, _Vaticana,_ ” she said, and waded into the crowd.

* * *

Nico came back to full consciousness staring at the cobbles of the Square and the lingering knowledge that he’d lashed out with his magic, indiscriminately.

“Nico?” his wife asked quietly, and he realized that she was kneeling next to him, one hand on his back.

“Did I kill anyone?” he asked immediately, feeling a little sick to his stomach. He remembered, vaguely, people screaming. He thought he’d moved _past_ that, trained away the instinct with discipline and the fear he’d barely mentioned to anyone again after telling it to Nia, when he’d asked to join the Hunt-

“No,” she said, and he only noticed he’d tensed up against the answer because he found himself relaxing again. “No, you just shoved everyone away. You knocked a lot of people over and scared even more, but it gave Arik a place to land.”

Arik?

He looked up from the ground and saw a dragon towering over the assembled people, wings casting a broad shadow over the Square on the Vatican side and the Piazza of Pope Pius XII on the Roman side, large paw-like feet planted heavily close together in the space between the crowd and the mob, his tail skittering against the road loudly somewhere out of sight as it twitched in agitation.

The Jagdsprinz sat upon her horse under dragon-Arik’s neck, the Vatican at her side. He could just see Cantu beyond them, and Boerio hovering uncertainly off to the side.

“You need to take your coat off,” Diana told him.

“What?”

“She’s told the one who shot you all the ways he’s guilty of not doing his duty, and one of those was shooting you which was a violation of the Tripartite Treaty, so you need to get up and take your coat off so everyone can see your uniform-”

“Help me up.”

He was healed again, but he was still sore and winced when he had to get his arm out of the coat sleeve. Nico folded it over his left arm for safekeeping.

“-have to say for yourself?” the Jagdsprinz was asking sharply.

“I have orders,” Cantu repeated stiffly. “From my government.”

“And is your government that of the Italian Republic?” the Vatican demanded.

“Yes,” Cantu said.

 _“No!”_ Nico heard his father growl at almost exactly the same moment.

“It appears that this is a matter of dispute,” the Jagdsprinz said.

“ _He_ just wants-”

“Giacomo Cantu,” she cut him off. “If your government is the Italian Republic, then _he_ is your Nation, and you committed treason when tried to shoot him and shot one of my officers instead; and treason again when you _continued_ shooting. Did you commit treason?”

“No!” Cantu insisted hotly. “ _Sud Italia_ is no Nation of mine! He’s not Italy!”

“There is no _Nation_ of Italy,” the Vatican said. “There are _two_ that function as one.”

“You cannot have one without the other,” the Jagdsprinz said. “And as I _know_ that there has not been born one Nation to be _‘Italy’_ , and if your government is the Italian Republic, then the Republic has purposefully abandoned half of itself-”

“ _We_ didn’t abandon _them!_ ” someone yelled from the mob. “ _They_ kicked _us_ out!”

“If we _did,_ we were right to!” someone from the crowd in the Square yelled back.

“-and utterly _failed_ in its duty as a government!” the Jagdsprinz finished when the shouting the exchange had engendered was silenced by Arik rumbling menacingly.

Nico heard the sharp clop of hooves on stone behind him, and Dariya rode past him, in front of the rest of the group, headed to report. Luisa followed just behind her, but Mosè hung back and leaned down.

“Fill me in,” he said. “There’s some sort of election crisis?”

“Sections A, B, and C of Squad 1, 1st Company, 1st Reiter, as requested,” Dariya reported, saluting, as Nico summarized. “Also Hauptmann Costa with three Zauberen and Kommandant Costa.”

“Offizieren, while stationed here you will report to Leutnant Dariya,” the Jagdsprinz told them. “Leutnant, you will coordinating with-”

She glanced over at the Vatican.

“Inspector General Elias Leitz of the Gendarmerie,” he provided.

“-to secure this square and protect the people in it. They are to leave _only_ of their volition, without coercion of any sort.”

“I have orders to evict-” Cantu tried to say again.

_“What is going on here?”_

The front ranks of the mob edged aside to let an older man in a suit through. He must have come in a car, because he looked too put-together to have been in the mob or walked any distance, and he had the feel of a politician to him. About half of the Carabinieri saluted.

 _“Abatescianni,”_ South Italy snarled at the man. “How _dare-_ ”

“No one cares what you have to say, _Napoli,_ ” Gasparo Abatescianni, one of the men claiming the title of President of Italy, dismissed him. “No one ever has.”

He walked straight up to the Jagdsprinz and glared up at her.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he demanded. “This isn’t your business, but we’ve been getting all _kinds_ of reports about how you’re getting in the way. _You_ are interfering with the sovereignty of the Republic of-”

“Within the boundaries of this colonnade and the walls adjoining them, this land is _not **Italy!**_ ” the Vatican exploded, stepped towards him as though to loom over the man, who was actually rather taller than him. “This is the Vatican City-State and the Holy See, the domain of the Pope and the Holy Catholic Church; and _Italy_ is bound by the Lateran Treaty to abide by our sovereignty! By that same treaty, we are neutral and _inviolable_ territory, the Carabinieri are forbidden from exercising legal power in the Square when we request that they leave the area, and the removal of any persons from the boundaries of our state requires our consent!”

Abatescianni looked very taken aback by being verbally accosted by a priest.

“And _I,_ ” Cristoforo continued. “As the Nation of the Vatican-City State and the Holy See, as the Catholic Church _itself, do not allow you authority!_ I _ban_ you from arrest, seizure, or any other legal action within, up to and including from removing or attempting to remove any person, within my boundaries!”

“Whereas _I,_ ” the Jagdsprinz told him coldly. “Have been asked to exercise my full legal authority in the matter of enforcing the boundaries of the Vatican.”

“You _have_ no legal authority,” Abatescianni told her.

 _“Actually,”_ Mosè said, nudging his horse up to the group. “In this situation, we derive it in three ways- firstly from the Jagdsprinz’s charter from Ereshkigal, secondly from the Tripartite Treaty, and thirdly from the invitation of the Vatican, Nation and King.”

He smiled disarmingly at the politician, in the way he had sometimes, when it looked like the man was about to talk. He’d gotten it from Veneziano, Nico knew, even if he hadn’t heard of Mosè’s grandfather smiling like that in years.

“I was an _Avvocati_  before I joined the Hunt,” Mosè said. “Before you try to question _my_ legal authority. Jagdsprinz, I have thoughts I wish to share, if you allow it.”

“By all means, Kommandant Costa,” she told him.

“There seems to be a surprising degree of confusion about the situation,” Mosè began. “There are six options for what has occurred- the North expelled the South, the South expelled the North, the North seceded from the Republic, the South seceded from the Republic, they mutually expelled each other, or they mutually seceded. Which option contains the most truth has yet to be seen. In any case, the Italian Republic appears to have ceased to function as a coherent unit, and therefore, by definition, as a state.”

“The fuck do you mean, there’s not a _state,_ ” South Italy said. “ _I’m_ still alive!”

“A state is not required for a Nation,” Mosè said. “But a Nation is required for a state. Tell me, do you have a state? A government, more like?”

“I have land,” South Italy told him. “Elio Laganà is President and Velia Muraro is Prime Minister.”

“Of where?”

“The Italian Republic!”

Abatescianni looked incredibly offended, but a furious look from the Vatican kept him from saying anything in time to interrupt.

“So then _you_ are the Italian Republic?” the Jagdsprinz asked, tone clearly stating she didn’t believe that.

“No!”

“So you _don’t_ have a government?” Mosè asked, and Nico couldn’t really see his father but he _knew_ that South Italy was gritting his teeth.

“No,” the Nation finally admitted. “No, I _don’t_ have a government, or a state.”

“What we appear to have here, Jagdsprinz,” Mosè continued. “Are two competing claims for the control of a government of a state which it seems likely that no longer exists, as it has no singular Nation to _prove_ its existence and the Nation that formed half of it has declared himself stateless.”

“That’s very unhelpful, Kommandant,” she told him.

“This is ridiculous,” Abatescianni insisted. “Your validation is worthless and your reasoning is unfounded- if we _say_ we are the Italian Republic, then _we are the Italian Republic._ That’s how the VRG did it, and that’s how _we_ are doing it- so _you_ can take yourmedieval delusions of power somewhere else, because we won’t accept them!”

“You already have,” the Jagdsprinz said. “The Tripartite Treaty was signed on behalf of all of humanity, alive at the time of implementation and every new one living thereafter.”

“Maybe you have authority with the fairies and the monsters,” he said. “But you don’t have any here, no matter what you’ve done. We _will_ evict the southerners, and we _will_ have Rome, and we _are_ the Italian Republic!”    

“Is that a declaration of war on the Vatican, Gaspare Abatescianni?” the Jagdsprinz asked after a moment, far too calmly for Nico to be comfortable.

“The south is a crime-ridden poverty-stricken resource-sucking parasite that we _refuse_ to live with any longer, for the good of Italy,” Abatescianni said. “And we will enforce our policies and positions. The orders have been issued across Italy. They mutinied in the south and the military there has declared our orders void and us as rebels, and intend to treat us as such. The soldiers who are still loyal to us provided information about the orders the rogue elements of the military gave- they’re mobilizing against us as we speak. We _will_ meet them to protect the Republic. And if you and your _knights-_ ”

He sneered the last word, eyeing the Hunt’s examples of heavy cavalry with disdain.

“-are still here and still try to impede us, you _will_ be removed. Depending on how much further _stupidity_ you decide to engage in, you might even be annihilated. The demon wasn’t prepared for you, but _we_ have a modern military and prior warning.”

Arik snarled, but the man didn’t seem to care.

“So- no, it is not a declaration of war,” Abatescianni concluded. “Not _yet._ ”

There was silence in the Square and the mob as the news sank in.

“In that case,” the Jagdsprinz said, loud enough to carry across the crowd and reach the television cameras sent to cover the Conclave, which had been focusing on the mob and the Hunt for some time now. “I can only construe the actions of both your ‘government’ and its’ opposition, in the form of Laganà and Muraro, to be engaged in warlike actions against each other, the Vatican, and the Hunt. Anything I do is therefore, within reason, self-defense in a war of aggression. We will abide by the Geneva and Hague Conventions, and expect you to do the same.”

She turned Arion to walk _just_ over the boundary into the Square, back inside the Hunt’s jurisdiction and their position of legal superiority, then faced Abatescianni across the border.

“Congratulations on being the first to violate the Tripartite Treaty.”

* * *

“Nemean racing armor,” Nia told Nico some hours later. Evening had come and gone and the Square outside was lit with artificial lights. There were more Jäger now, the rest of 1st Company 1st Reiter with their Hauptmann, Leona Nisi, mingling with the Gendarmerie to form an impromptu border guard. The Vatican had gotten them to come to dinner with Gianna and Santiano, tactfully offering the Lord Marshal a spot in the garden to take some grass and small plants in lieu of being able to bring him inside. South Italy had left long before, to go back to Naples, to try and stifle the machinery of military and politics before things escalated any more.

“What?” Nico asked. The conversation, before it had died a little, had been focused on what do with the crowd in the Square, which was currently under something like protective custody. There were a lot of foreign nationals there, and with the violence that had broken out in the city after the Hunt declared their protection of the Vatican and the word of the split in government spread further, it didn’t seem safe to let them just _leave_ after the Pope had been selected.

“Overlapping ceramic plates suspended in shear thickening fluid sandwiched between a double-layer of Kevlar on the outside and one on the inside,” Nia continued. “Designed to be relatively lightweight and flexible but providing excellent protection against spills in sport racing at high speeds on dangerous terrain. Consumer experimentation has revealed that it works as a _very_ good small-caliber body armor and has the advantage of being easily concealable under clothes. I asked around the Gendarmerie for suggestions about good antiballistic armor, and they think it’s pretty sketchy how well it works against handguns despite being pretty enthusiastic about it; but if you insist on continuously getting shot, I’m going to have to convince myself to ignore that Navin Technologies sells it and buy you some.”

“This was only the second time,” Nico protested. “I _do_ try not to let it happen. And why’s Navin Technologies putting military or paramilitary technology into _sport racing armor?_ ”

“I was going to ask _you,_ ” Nia said. “But I bet when you write Øystein and János and Tomoko about it they’ll say it was them and Ásdís trying to keep the company out of the arms business while still letting Cassiel have his pet projects.”

Nico sighed. That rang depressingly true.

“I’m not going to bet against you on that,” he said, and decided to drag the conversation back to where it had been. “Just how much of a logistics nightmare would it be to take people out of the Square through the World Gate and then send them home from the VRG? I think doing that would outweigh the issues with _more_ governments getting tangled up in this mess.”

“Dariya?” Nia asked.

“I’ll speak to Kommandant Yurivitch,” she promised. “But the sheer volume of people seems prohibitive, besides the difficulties of arranging for transport back to their home countries from Martigny, or another city.”

“And the VRG isn’t actually _obligated_ to help out,” Diana added. “They don’t _have_ to let us saddle them with a bunch of foreigners.”

“Then _I’ll_ go talk to Zell and see what the UN has to say about it,” Nia said. “And the VRG from there. The GfL might not be able to _not_ support this and keep their image intact.”

“I’m more worried about _here,_ ” Diana said. “We’re just _at war_ now? We’re not _equipped_ to have a war, Nia! We don’t have the right equipment, we probably don’t have the right tactics, and we haven’t got the people or the supplies or the training.”

“We’re not technically at war _yet,_ ” Nia reminded her. “The Italians haven’t moved on us. By the time they do, _if_ they do, we’ll have had time to prepare.”

“And what if they come at us with tanks?” Diana demanded. “Aircraft? Even just snipers would be enough. The Hunt is a paramilitary _police force_ , not an _army._ We are an _actual cavalry,_ Nia, not a mechanized infantry with- with _machine guns_ and _mortars_ and who _knows_ what else. We _are_ very good at what we do, but what we do is _not_ fighting wars.”

“They’re not going to use an air strike against the _Vatican,_ ” Nia said. “Probably. Anything else, we can handle. We just have to figure out how.”

“That’s not good enough. We need to know _now,_ before we’re staring it down the barrel!”

 “And what are you going to do about the city?” Gianna asked. “Are you just going to stand at the border while people get killed in the streets? Are you just going to _watch?_ ”

“Gianna-” Nia started to say.

“My _son_ lives in the city,” Gianna cut her off. “He and his wife and their five children. Nazario hasn’t had his sixth birthday yet. The youngest are the twins, Elisea and Santo. They’re four months old, Nia. When Arik reported back last from the city, he said that Rome might be turning into the main ground of a _civil war._ There are almost three million people in this city- will they all _die?_ ”

“I have forty-five hundred people _total_ in the Regiments,” Nia said. “Sixteen hundred of them are stationed in Ordon Khot, which is still temporally out-of-sync with Earth and anything on the Martinach side of Kūnlún. It could take anything from a week to a month to get the orders to Ordon Khot, the Jäger mustered, and get them back to Martinach. _Besides_ that, the Reiter Regiments are the only ones who are really equipped for concentrated close-quarters fighting, and there are only about six hundred of them. Two hundred of them are in Ordon Khot. About one hundred are already here. I could have another three hundred here, but the Carabinieri just in this _city_ outnumber that. I could pull some of the Husar, but I also have an obligation to staff Ordon Khot and Martinach, so I can’t take everyone. I _also_ only have about 300 support staff, which we really should have more of but _don’t_ because it’s hard to convince people to take functional immortality in exchange for being a military bureaucrat, who aren’t ready or equipped to coordinate between _three_ locations. Two was already stretching it. I can protect the Vatican with what I have. I can’t take all of Rome without help- I’d just be killing my people.”

“You had no shortage of temporary volunteers for dealing with the demon!” Gianna exclaimed. “Ask again!”

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who asked for them, then,” Nia told her. “That was for _Honalee,_ not Earth! No one was _expecting_ to end up on Earth! And _besides_ the manpower problem, Gianna, it’s _not my place_ to take Rome.”

“It’s your duty to defend people!”

“It’s my _duty_ to enforce the law, not to occupy cities! If I was _asked_ to help, that would be one thing- but I still wouldn’t be able to _do_ much, because I _don’t_ have the resources and occupying Rome wouldn’t be reacting against a violation of a treaty or a contract-”

“It’s a _riot_ working up to a _civil war_ , Nia!” Gianna protested angrily. “There will be laws broken _everywhere!_ ”

“And when I’m in Martinach there are laws broken in the VRG, in Monthey and Sion and Vollèges!” Nia snapped. “And I don’t do anything about that, because it’s _not my place._ If I take Rome to protect it against lawbreaking, where do I stop? Once I’ve justified _that,_ how do I justify not taking Franscati, or Monterotondo, or Ostia?Rieti? L’Aquila? Viterbo? Latina? The Apennines is a nice natural barrier, or the Adriatic, but there’s a hell of a lot more people to the north and south once I reach _that._ And once _this_ is done, what’s stopping me from expanding my borders in Martinach once I decide that Monthey and Sion and Vollèges need my supervision? Don’t Lausanne or Annecy or Aosta need it just as much?”

“So instead of doing _something_ and _saving_ people, you’ll do _nothing_ and-”

“Giovanna,” the Vatican said sternly. “Lavinia. _Stop._ There are no good answers in war. That is why we stopped having them.”

“Good job on making peace _last_ this time,” Gianna told him bitterly.

There was a knock on the door.

“Kommandant Beilschmidt, Jagdsprinz!” Arik called through the wood. “News and a petition!”

The Jäger in the room straightened up. Petitions for the Jagdsprinz were only for retribution or justice when a contract had been broken. Nia took a deep breath and looked away from Gianna before calling for him to enter.

“ _Signor_ Soldati,” Cristoforo greeted the man who followed Arik into the room. “It is good to see you are unhurt.”

“Jagdsprinz- Lauro Soldati, the Mayor of Rome,” Arik introduced him, as the man himself asked Cristoforo: “Could you possibly translate, Your Eminence?”

Nia stood to shake his hand.

“I speak Italian,” she said. “You know the Vatican?”

“We’ve met before, briefly,” Soldati told her. “I was wondering- I’m not entirely clear on what you’ve decided to do here, uh, Your Highness, because your officer there that I found doesn’t speak Italian and I only remembered enough French to explain that I wanted to come here- if you could do what you’re doing for the Vatican for Rome.”

“It’s just _‘Jagdsprinz’_ ,” Nia said. “And that depends, _Signor_ Soldati, quite a lot.”

“Gianna, Santino,” Cristoforo said quietly, standing and motioning that all three of them should leave to let the Hunt go about its business.

“I expect you to do the right thing by God!” Gianna hissed to Nia as she passed by. Soldati politely pretended he hadn’t heard and took one of the now-empty seats.

“Depends on what?” he asked.

“Why you’re asking for my help,” she told him. “I have a very specific set of instances in which I can intervene, and if yours doesn’t meet the criteria- things get very murky, ethically and legally speaking.”

“I don’t want my people hurt,” he said. “Not if it can be helped. I can’t rely on the military or the Carabinieri, because they are _part_ of the military, and there’s no one else to turn to.”

“We’re not a security force,” Nia told him. “Not like that. If it was connected to a breach of contra-”

Mosè cleared his throat.

 Nia twisted in her seat to stare at him.

“What sort of legal shenanigans do you have for us _now,_ Kommandant?” she asked, disapproval tingeing her words.

“I don’t think it would be admissible in a traditional court of law,” Mosè said. “But that’s really how the Hunt operates, so-”

“It does have to have _some_ basis, Kommandant, you’ve already heard my reasons for not taking over cities-”

“And they’re very good ones,” Mosè assured her. “But you could stand to think a little more _creatively,_ Jagdsprinz.”

“ _‘Creative’_ is not a word that should be applied to the interpretation of law,” she told him.

“There are some times when that’s the only way to make things work,” he said. “For instance- the Mayor is worried about the threat from the military. The military takes its orders from the government. There happen to be two governments claiming legitimacy over the Italian Republic right now, but at least one of the Nations of the Republic doesn’t exist as the Republic any longer. By my count, that makes three violations of contract and failures of duty. One is the military, which is supposed to _protect_ the state, and therefore the people. But right now they’re starting a civil war.”

“Which isn’t what anyone wanted,” Soldati spoke up. “There was fighting, yes, and rioting, and blaming, before.But no one wanted the military and government fractured and turned against itself. Maybe- maybe if it had been done slowly, democratically, the country would have been divided. Maybe people wanted _that._ I don’t know. I _do_ know that I can tell you, in all honesty, that a civil war was not what anyone- well, a significant _majority_ \- wanted.”

“A government is supposed to exist for the welfare of its people,” Mosè continued. “And it’s certainly not doing that at the moment if its’ started a war no one wanted. That’s a second failure.” 

“They’ve left the city,” Arik said. “The politicians. Laganà and Muraro and their people were going to Naples, or at least I _think_ that’s what I heard people saying. I don’t know where the other ones went, but north somewhere. I don’t think they wanted to try to run a government out of a war zone.”

“What?” Soldati asked, not understanding the German.

“We don’t know where Abatescianni and Benivieni went,” Nia told him. “Just that it’s _‘north’_.”

“Florence, maybe?” he suggested.

“So, leaving their people, that can be a fourth,” Mosè said. “It ties in nicely with the third failure, which is the fact that they’ve rendered every Italian citizen stateless. Or, at least the ones in the south, until we find out what’s happening up north. They just _abandoned_ their responsibilities. So, Jagdsprinz- is a military attacking its citizens and the government fractured and uncaring not enough to constitute a violation of their duty? A betrayal of the social contract that exists with its citizens?”

“We are not annexing the city,” Nia said, switching over to German to prevent Soldati from understanding.

“I’m not telling you you should,” he replied in the same. “But this is my job. I’m telling you you have a valid reason to do _something_ to help, even if it can’t be protecting the _entire_ city because of manpower issues.”

“If we added the Carabinieri-” Arik started to say.

“Why would they come?” Diana asked. “They were pretty divided-”

“Well, the one that wasn’t shooting at your husband is hanging around with the Gendarmerie with his friends. So there are _some_ who still care about doing their jobs.”

“Then it depends how many,” Diana said. “How many Carabinieri will come, how many Jäger we can spare- we don’t _have_ to use only the Reiter, Jagdsprinz, we can add Husar, even if they’re not as heavily armed, and take some Dragoner and dismount them to go with the Carabinieri. They won’t be as well-protected, but they’ll be _there._ And we shouldn’t discount the _Polizia di Stato_ if we’re going to go _that_ far. They’re not military, but the local police will know the area and they already have patrols, and it would free _us_ up from having to do that work, as well.”

“And if the citizens are behind it, like _Signor_ Soldati has been saying,” Nico added. “Then we might not even need that much.”

“We can’t take too much,” Nia said after a moment. “We can’t overstretch.”

“We will get maps,” Dariya told her. “And have people mark where the police stations are, and find where our line should be. Without a map, I would say the river. Bridges are easier to defend- and, Jagdsprinz, there is _much_ Thálassians can do with a river. I can inquire amongst the Potameides.”

Nia looked around the room at her officers.

“If you think we can do this,” she said. “Then start planning. Leutnant Dariya, you’re going to be operating as a Brigade commander here. Take Quartermaster Agresta and meet with Inspector Leitz. Invite whoever is in charge of the Carabinieri who are still around and find out who to talk to for the _Polizia di Stato-_ whoever’s closest, first. We’ll worry about officials and hierarchy later. Decide what we can defend and how far our lines should go. I’ll send _Signor_ Soldati to you when I’m done with him. And have the Vatican come back here.”

“Yes, Jagdsprinz,” Dariya said, and she and Diana got up and left.

“What do you want me to do?” Nico asked.

“If the military comes, we need something to counter it,” Nia said. “Figure something out.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Try.”

“Jagdsprinz?” the Mayor asked.

“We’ll be able to help,” Nia told him. “I don’t know how much. But something. Kommandant Costa is going to write up something explaining _why_ we’re helping, and why it falls under our authority. It’s going to be clear but precise, so people can understand it, and then we’re both going to sign it. The Vatican will countersign as witness for credibility, and then Kommandant Beilschmidt is going to take what you wrote and spread it to as many people as possible- television and radio if you can manage it, but at the very least uploading it and plaster social media with links. _I’ll_ take it to the governments, you handle the public.”

“Is there any specific way you want me to frame things?” Mosè asked.

The Jagdsprinz considered it a moment.

“Our official position right now is that the Italian Republic has ceased to exist in any meaningful way,” she said. “Don’t try and make us sound like we know exactly how it happened, but make sure you lay out the basics of the different combinations of secession and expulsion that could have happened, and what the situation is now with the conflicting governments. Also include that they’ve broken the Tripartite Treaty, explain how, and explain what that means for them.”

“Someone is going to ask why we’re helping them if they’ve broken the Tripartite Treaty.”

“ _Rome_ did not break the Treaty,” the Jagdsprinz said. “The government of the Italian Republic did. A people are not their government; and the people we will take as they come.”

Mosè looked thoughtful.

“I’m going to need a little bit, Jagdsprinz,” he told her.

“As quickly as possible, Kommandant,” she told him. “I have to go speak to my sister, soon, and she’ll need a copy.”

* * *

It was two hours before midnight in Martigny when Zell Beilschmidt opened the door to the UN Diplomatic Office. No one had been able to decide whether it would be proper to categorize it as an embassy or a consulate, so brass plaque mounted on the building read simply: _‘United Nations’_. It was still a point of curiosity for the city, which was growing under the shadow of Martigny in importance and traffic, but not so much in permanent residents. It still _looked_ like a small, sparse town, even the little bit of new construction that had happened.

Nia was resting against the doorframe, out of her armor and back in the black and gray uniform of the Hunt. Its gold rank markers would have named her a Leutnant except for the waist-length red cape, meant to be a counterpart to the long fur one that came with her armor.     

She looked exhausted.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Zell said, gesturing her inside. “You’ve been all over the Internet for _hours,_ and no one can figure out what’s happening in Rome besides violence.”

“We don’t know either,” Nia told her. “Not really. The best I can tell you is that the politicians from the north half of the country elected a President and Prime Minister, and so did the ones from the south half of the country, and they’re both claiming that _they’re_ the ones in charge of Italy; but meanwhile they’ve abandoned Rome and _Zio_ Vino says he’s not _Repubblica italia, romano_ any longer, just _Sud Italia_.”

Zell looked perturbed.

“Is he all right?”

“He was out of it for a little bit, after he lost the Republic,” Nia said. “But after he got refocused, he was fine.”

“What about _Babbo_?”

Her sister clenched her jaw and scowled at the floor.

“Nia-”

“He never showed up,” she said defensively. “ _Zio_ Vino collapsed and _civil war_ broke out, and he never _showed up_.”

“Wait- _civil war?_ ”

“Zell?” Rémy called from down the hallway. “Who-”

He came into the doorway.

“Oh. Hi, Nia.”

“Hey, Rémy,” she said tiredly. “Yes, civil war. I-”

She stopped, and checked her pockets.

“Just a second-”

“Do you want water or something?” Rémy asked. “Or maybe a bed. You look like you need to sleep.”

“Can’t go to sleep yet,” Nia said, finally locating the paper she’d been searching for. She unfolded the sheets and handed them to Zell. “I had Mosè write this for public release. It explains what we know.”

As Zell read it over in silence, Rémy produced water for everyone, unasked, and sat down at the table with them. The silence in the room stretched out, broken only by the sound of the pages being flipped or people putting their glass back down on the table.

“Am I going to need to call the staff back?” Rémy asked when Zell got to the last page. “Radoslav is still up and looking for something to do.”

“ _He_ should be in bed,” Zell said.

“He’s young, he can manage,” Rémy told her. “ _We_ could stay up late when we were that age-”

“You mean _you_ could. _I_ never handled it well.”

“That’s because you’re a morning person-”

Zell reached one of the concluding paragraphs of the legal release and stopped.

“You’re saying the Italian Republic has _ceased to exist?_ ” she exclaimed, appalled. “And- _Nia! You’re at **war?**_ ”

“Only technically,” Nia told her sister. “They haven’t actually done anything yet but make it clear that it’s coming.”

Zell put the papers firmly down on the table.

 _“Nia,”_ she said. _“You’re **at war.** ”_

“…Yes?”

“You’re not prepared for that! You’re not trained or equipped or ready-”

“We _know!_ ” Nia said. “But it happened anyway!”

Rémy glanced back and forth between them before holding his hand out to his wife for the papers.

“I’ll have Radoslav scan those and send them along to Miervaldis,” he said. “And call Spain and the General. While you two work this out.”

There was silence in the room for a few minutes after he left, Zell staring across the table at her sister while Nia avoided meeting her eyes, focusing on her water instead.

“ _Why_ did you go to war, Nia?” Zell finally asked. “You can’t have forgotten the stories _Vati_ told, or _Babbo_ or _Onkel_ or any of the others. Modern land warfare in Europe- you _really_ wanted to go there?”

“ _I_ didn’t want to go there,” Nia said. “But Abatescianni did. And maybe the military and the other politicians. But they violated the treaty and I’m obligated to take action about that, besides the hand I’d already taken in protecting the Vatican. It’s a broken contract, Zell- that’s my _job._ ”

“In Honalee,” she said. “That’s your job in _Honalee._ Not on Earth.”

“It’s my job wherever there are parties to the Jagdsprinz’s Pact,” Nia told her. “Wherever there are Kings. Nations count for that, Zell. Humanity is party to the Pact as well, it’s just that they didn’t know and the Hunt under the Erlkönig mostly stayed out of things. They were worried more about Honalee, and keeping the worlds separate, than anything else. But now the worlds are linked, and I’ve stayed out of things as much as I could because I _know_ how well things would go if I just started trying to throw my weight around- but I was given the room to, this time. The Vatican acknowledged my authority to act within his borders and then the Mayor of Rome, the only authority who could reasonably be said to speak for the city at that point, _asked me_ to help. I can’t ignore that.”

“What if other cities come to you for help?” Zell asked. “What will you do then? And even if they _don’t_ ask for help- Nia, if they’re that worked up about getting rid of the other half of their own country, what are they going to do to the immigrants and the migrant workers? There’s plenty of hatred there already, and I’d be surprised if there was a government that would call you in to protect people from _that_ sort of violence.”

“If other people come to ask me for help, I _can’t do it,_ ” Nia said. “I don’t have the people and I don’t have the supplies and I won’t know if there are human rights violations occurring unless I’m _there_ and can see the people who did or if someone comes to _tell me_ so I _can_ go and look and I _can’t_ fight a war, Zell, and I’m trying not to, but I think it’s going to turn _into_ one and I-”

Zell got up from her seat and came around the table to hold her sister while she cried.

“Stay here tonight?” she asked. “We can put you up on the couch upstairs.”

“I have things to do,” Nia said miserably, sniffing in an attempt to clear her nose.

“You won’t do them very well if you haven’t had any sleep,” Zell told her. “And I want you close, before everything _really_ gets started.”

“It’ll take more than a war to kill me, Zell.”

* * *

The only concern Feli had when he left Póli Thálassas for the Venetian Lagoon was if there was a new Pope yet or not, but as soon as he crossed the border back to Earth he-

He must have blacked out, or something, because the next thing he was lying in the silty mud of the saltwater marshes ringing the Lagoon trying to hack the water out of his lungs, eleionomae watching him worriedly from the water and grasses.

“King _Venezia_? King _Venezia_?” one of them was asking.

“I’ll be all right,” he managed to tell her, hoarsely. That was- no, no that was lie.

He would not be all right.

 _Venice_ was there; right where it had always been, he could _feel_ it; and he could go outside the city boundaries and find Marano and Mira and Stra and Codevigo and Jesolo and Scorzé and Noale and Eraclea, the smaller towns; and Chioggia and Padua and Castelfranco Veneto and San Donà di Piave, the larger cities-

And then his awareness _fuzzed._ The rest of the Veneto was _there,_ dimly, like the way southern Italy felt to him as part of the Italian Republic, indistinct like trying to process someone talking to him in the fog of waking up. He could feel Rovigo and Verona and Vicenza and Montebelluna and Feltre and Vittorio Veneto and even Cortina d’Ampezzo, up by no-longer-Austria, through that fog. It was _wrong-_ that wasn’t really his heart, not the way Venice was, but most of it was his old Republic’s Terrafirma, the old agricultural mainland.

If he really, _really_ tried, like was doing now, he could find Grado and Aquileia- old, old places where his history had roots, out in Friuli Venezia Giulia. The rest of the Autonomous Region sat on the edge of his awareness, not a wall but a box maybe, a package that he hadn’t opened but had an idea of what might be inside. Trentino Alto Adige was similar- call it a surprise package, there but mysterious.    

 But Lombardy, to the west, and Emilia Romagna, to the south; and beyond that, to Valle d’Aosta and the Piedmont and Liguria and Tuscany and the parts of Marche and Umbria and Lazio that he was usually able to feel and the fluid border between him and his brother and _Rome_ and the _south-_

They were gone. They weren’t a blank space in his mental map of himself, because the borders of the map had contracted, cut down to something indistinct with the Veneto and the Autonomous Regions. They just weren’t part of _him_ anymore.

Feliciano staggered upright and stepped into his apartments in the Doge’s Palace, shedding his mud-caked clothes and stepping quickly into the shower to get it out of his hair.

Drying off and getting re-dressed in clean, dry things, he checked his phone. There were five missed calls from the Mayor’s office, two from the Mayor herself, and one each from Cristoforo and Heinrich.

There was also a note on his table in Heinrich’s handwriting.

 _I came when I heard about Rome,_ it read. _And I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up. I tried calling Zio Vino and I didn’t get anything from him, either, and then I tried Gianna and I didn’t get anything from her but I guess that makes sense because of the Vatican-_

The Vatican? What about the Vatican? Had he tried to call in the middle of the new Pope being presented?

_-and no one picked up in Martinach and when I called the UN Office in Martigny Zell and Rémy didn’t know anything either._

There was no reason for him to have called Martinach, Nia probably wouldn’t care about whatever had happened, if it hurt him. There- calling Zell made sense, with whatever had happened to leave him feeling like this. Rome must have been connected to it, and probably the Vatican as well-

Feliciano was suddenly struck with how _calm_ he was, and had to sit down to process his emotions.

He was sort of mildly uneasy, and it wasn’t that hard to separate what was his own reaction to the sudden change out from what his people, who had a sort of low-lying anxiety about… something. He wasn’t sure exactly what yet. Something with the country. But besides that, he was calm. Content. Serene.

He shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t feel like this, when something had obviously gone very wrong. He shouldn’t _not care_ about the Republic-

He didn’t care about the Republic.

_He didn’t care about the Republic._

This was wrong. This was _so_ wrong, and Feliciano couldn’t be bothered about it. He _shouldn’t_ be able to _not care_ about the Republic, Nations _always_ cared about themselves, and he should care more that he wasn’t caring but what was the point?

Feliciano took a deep breath, straightened up, and tried to center himself.

“I am-”

He had been going to say: _‘I am Repubblica italiana, veneziano’_ ; but the name vanished between thought and voice and Feliciano was left hanging in his own silence, slightly concerned. His name-

Feliciano took another breath and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into his people. He sought out Heinrich, on habit, and found him at La Fenice with his students, listening as they practiced their singing. His son was tight with tension and worry, and Feliciano sent the idea of _home, you’re home, home and safe_ _with family_ through the citizen bond and smiled as Heinrich relaxed and noticed the change in his emotional state, poking at the other end of the bond himself, wondering-

Feliciano sent _love and home and joy and hugs_ back as an answer, suddenly very happy. He felt _good._ It was always nice to connect to people like this, in peacetime, and wallow in the general mood, but this was different. He was happy, _really_ happy; and warm and satisfied and loved and oh-so-fiercely _proud_ -

“I am the Triveneto.”

- _proud_ like he wasn’t unless it was a patriotic holiday, unless there had been a win in the World Cup or the Olympics, proud like he’d been of his empire and _whoever_ was saying that  Venice had no part of Italy was right-

_-was wrong-_

-and anyone who threatened it like they were threatening the south and Rome would have a fight on their hands because if they weren’t _allowed_ to be Italians because of what they had with Póli Thálassas and for _daring_ to take on their own affairs separate from the national government then _by **God**_ they were going to be Venetians-

_-Friulians Giuliani Tyroleans Tridentines-_

-Venetians until the day they died and if it was death at the end of a gun bomb mortar like the south then _so be it;_ and if they were going to kick out the Venetian nationalists because _they_ wanted them to choke on their own pride and their own words and prove they couldn’t live up to what they said then they’d _show_ them, _show_ them _nationalism-_

Feliciano shoved himself out of his people and gripped the edge of the table tightly. He didn’t _want_ to fight; and his people didn’t want to fight but there were those who would if they had to and why, _why_ would they think they’d have to-

 _I came over after you didn’t answer your phone,_ Heinrich’s note concluded. _And it was here and you weren’t and I don’t know where you are but **please** don’t be gone, call whenever you get back I’ve been in one capital while it died already and I don’t want to be in another one and Venice would probably be hard to burn but I don’t think that matters when they’ve elected two governments and the one out of Turin or Milan or Florence nobody really know which one but it’s the Lega Nord, when they’re saying that Venice doesn’t count as **really** Italian any more than the south does because of Póli Thálassas and Amphitrite._

They’d- what?

Feliciano didn’t _like_ the Lega Nord, he couldn’t when he didn’t want to waste the effort the Risorgimento had been and what he’d done to make sure he came out on top of the other northern states to decentralize the government, and he couldn’t really _dislike_ the _Łiga Vèneta_ even if he felt guilty about secretly kind-of liking them because they were for _his_ heartland- but _Łiga Vèneta_ was one of the _founders_ the Lega Nord. The Lega Nord had been the biggest party in Veneto for _decades;_ and yes it had shifted in the five years around the Autonomous Regions getting short-lived Nations and Honalee breaking into Earth and yes maybe people had been running under _Łiga Vèneta_ for most of the time after that and not Lega Nord and getting votes like that but _Lega Nord had kicked them out?_

It felt absurd to think; but the Nation part of him was telling him it was true, and whispering _‘betrayal’_ at him. Betrayal for isolating him, for casting him aside, for taking the rest of his power-

Feliciano pushed that away, too, and went searching for his brother.

Lovino wasn’t in Rome, and Rome was- things had been worse, Feliciano could tell, from the smashed windows and the smell of smoke and some areas of dried blood. It would have been _terrifying,_ if he’d still had any National stake in the city, but it was still familiar and sickening to see this. He checked Palazzo Madame and Palazzo Montecitorio but the Senate and the Chamber of Delegates weren’t in session and everything seemed to have been abandoned, very quickly, offices still open and some things hastily packed up and taken away.  

He went to the Palazzo Senatorio, the Mayor’s offices on Piazza del Campidoglio, and found _Polizia_ and Carabinieri and some Jäger there, clearly serving as guards while the offices operated frantically, people coming and going. Feliciano followed some of the people and got a general idea of what was going on in the city, tracing the line of mixed-member guards up to Corso Vittorio Emanuele II and up to Ponte Umberto I and Castel Sant’Angelo, which had a much higher concentration of Jäger than the other areas. Feliciano could guess that this was where they were located, even though he wasn’t really sure _why_ they were there, and left for Naples. Lovino probably wasn’t in Rome.

Feliciano hadn’t even managed to look through the entirety of Lovino’s house in Naples when he heard a door slam open somewhere and his brother roared: _“You stinking piece of pigshit!”_

“Lovino!” he called back, headed towards the sound, “I-”

They met on the stairs, Lovino going up and Feliciano coming down.

“How _dare_ you come here!” Lovino told him. “How _dare you,_ after you kicked me out of my _own fucking **country-**_ ”

“Lovi- no! No I _didn’t!_ Why do you think _I_ did I just got back-”

 _“Póli Thálassas,”_ the other Nation hissed. “You were there _again!_ ”

“I kind of have an obligation to go there-”

“Even when you’re pulling _this_ shit, you’re running off on me?” Lovino exclaimed indignantly. “You’re kicking me out of Italy, and you have the _fucking **gall**_ to not even be on **_Earth!_** At least with _Ludwig_ I was second to someone who was on the _same fucking plane of existence!_ ”

Feliciano felt his heart drop, sharply; and his expression shutter closed.

“Don’t _dare_ compare those two things,” he said. “Don’t you _dare,_ Lovino.”

The other Nation was in no mood to care about that.

“You’re getting _rid_ of me, I’ll do _whatever_ I damn well _please-_ ”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Feliciano protested. _“Lovino, **I don’t know what happened.** ”_

“Like _hell-_ ”

  ** _“I had nothing to do with this!”_** Feliciano screamed over him. Sometimes, that was all that would get his attention. _“My borders are barely stable at the Veneto and I don’t. Know. **Why!** ”_

This did stop Lovino, finally. He stared at the Nation he’d formerly shared a country with, expression barely on the other side of a scowl.

“Just the Veneto?” Lovino asked.

“A little more,” Feliciano admitted. “Maybe Friuli Venezia Giulia and Trentino-Alto Adige. I’m not really sure yet. But the Lega Nord kicked _me_ out right alongside you and I _think_ the Autonomous Regions might be on my side. Or they think the Lega Nord thinks they’re on my side, so they’re on my side, which is basically the same thing. So what about you?”

“If it’s south of Naples it’s mine,” Lovino told him, the anger of it burning behind his eyes. “Otherwise it gets sketchy. Definitely not as far north as Rome, but besides that…”

“I’m sorry.”

“If it’s not your fault don’t fucking _apologize_ for it,” Lovino snapped. “So if _you’re_ not _Nord Italia,_ who are you?”

“I’m the Triveneto,” Feliciano said. “Are you _Sud Italia,_ then?”

“Who _else_ would it be?”

“Well, I _guess_ it could be Sicily-”

Lovino snorted.

“Yeah, like _she’d_ want to deal with anything but her island. _Sardinia_ would be more likely to make a move on mainland territory, and even _she-_ ”

He came to a dead stop and they looked at each other, eyes wide.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ -”

_“Sardinia.”_

* * *

 

Two hours later, Gasparo Abatescianni and Pierina Benivieni held a press conference from in front of Palazzo Vecchio in Florence, denouncing the southern half of the peninsula and Venice both. They declared the new borders of the Italian Republic to contain Sardinia, Liguria, the Piedmont, Valle d’Aosta, Lombardy, Trentino-Alto Adige, Emilia-Romagna, Tuscany, Marche, Umbria, Lazio, and Abruzzo. Santiana Luxi, once Sardinia but now _Nord Italia_ , stood behind them on the small platform. They declared that they would be taking military action to deport the south Italian invaders from Lazio and Abruzzo, particularly Rome.

After lunch, Elio Laganà and Velia Muraro retaliated by holding their own,more hastily-arranged, press conference outside of the Royal Palace of Naples, denouncing the northern half of the peninsula and Venice in particular for the city’s “renegade actions” encouraging the rest of the north to rebel. They declared the current, legitimate borders of the Italian Republic to contain Sicily, Calabria, Basilicata, Apullia, Campania, Molise, Abruzzo, and Lazio. Lovino Agresta, _Sud Italia_ , did not stand with the politicians because he had punched Laganà hard enough in the gut that the man could barely stand completely upright when Laganà backed up the ranking military officials in the south about their decision to take military action against the north Italians to secure Abruzzo, Lazio, and eventually the rest of the country, particularly Rome.

 Not long after, Lauro Soldati spoke to cameras from his office in Palazzo Senatorio in Rome, declaring that neither of the governments calling themselves the Italian Republic were in any way the Italian Republic, the citizenry were urged to disregard the authority of Florence and Naples, and the military commanded to ignore the orders issued from the false governments and return to protect the true capital. A new election would have to be held to reconstitute the legitimate government, which barring further political duplicity, would then take power. If, however, it was really the will of the Italian people to split the country, then the leaders of all factions involved were welcome to arrange a _peaceful_ meeting in Rome to negotiate the terms and write up the treaty. Until then, they weren’t going to be recognized as legitimate governments by any other power, particularly Rome.

 Just in time for dinner, the Wild Hunt released a statement to the international press reiterating their position on Italy. It declared the Italian Republic officially defunct, anyone who was claiming the legitimacy under the name to be pretenders, and confirmed their stance on defending Vatican City and Rome. It also extended to the rest of humanity’s governments the offer to transport their embassies in Rome and pilgrims in the Vatican to a border checkpoint or other location of their choosing by the Hunt to protect their citizens. Florence and Naples were issued a final warning about engaging in military action against each other over Abruzzo and Lazio, particularly Rome, and re-listed the consequences that violating the Tripartite Treaty in such a way would bring. The Hunt also demanded a statement of position from the Veneto, Trentino-Alto Adige, and Friuli Venezia Giulia, now existing under the Nation of the Triveneto _,_ Feliciano Costa.

The Triveneto said nothing, because Feliciano was too busy rushing about consulting with the various provincial governments about if they accepted him and how they felt about the whole situation and what they wanted to do about it. Isabella Guarneri, the Mayor of Venice, ordered the staff who were handling compiling the information he brought back to say nothing to anyone.

After dinner, Pope John XXIV was elected.

* * *

Cristoforo hurried the Jagdsprinz, the Pope, and the Mayor into meeting each other. It was a pleasant enough meeting, given the circumstances, and Nia explained the strategy the Hunt was going to take in defending the area to the two men.

The main portions were already done- a hierarchy had been established with the Carabinieri and _Polizia_ who had decided to back the Mayor, and they coordinated with the Hunt out of Castel Sant’Angelo, which was serving as headquarters of the Hunt while they were stationing forces in the city so they wouldn’t be taking up space in the Vatican. The Hunt would start evacuating the pilgrims in the Square in the morning, and then start helping the staff of the embassies that had been recalled get back home.

Soldati asked about the manpower issue he’d been appraised of, and Nia informed him that her General Staff had back a suggestion to take on temporary volunteers, for the duration of the conflict, to support the actual Jäger. The Hunt was expecting most of them to be Honalenier, with some Swiss and, hopefully, Italians. 

“I’m not anticipating the problem being volunteers,” she told them. “It’s the language issue. My original officers and I know Italian, either because we were born to it or because there was some foundation in Venetian already in Póli Thálassas and Italian was the easiest to pick up during the Treaty negotiations, since that’s what the Pict were using, too. But the people we’ve taken on since are almost all Honalenier who know the Trade Creole and humans who are Swiss German or French speakers. The average Jäger is very accomplished, linguistically- most of them have at least operating speaking proficiency in the Trade Creole and Swiss German and reading proficiency in their original alphabet and the ‘compromise’ we made between Roman letters and the Trade Creole ones so we weren’t favoring one or the other unduly but could still type up our documents- they just don’t know any Italian.”

“Do you need translators?” Soldati asked.

“We’re going to ask for fighting volunteers and language volunteers,” Nia said. “It would be best if they were the same people, but we’re not going to expect them to be. If you have anyone you can suggest or provide, that would be welcome.”

“Can you pay for all of this?” Cristoforo asked.

Nia was silent for a moment before saying: “We’re going to _try_.”

“I may be able to assist,” he told her.

_“Thank you.”_

“Will the line continue to be held where it is now?” Pope John XXIV asked. “Or will you move it?”

“How far we go depends on how many people we get,” Nia said. “The _official_ line is going to stay where it is for now, but the _Polizia_ and the Carabinieri and some of our Dragoner are going to range out from it. How far depends on what part of the city it is. We can’t have the military everywhere, but we can try to keep the police presence as stable as possible.”

“So when the military _does_ come-” Soldati started to ask.

“The weather’s going to be miserable around here for the time being,” Nia told them. “Cold. Wet. Icy. Very cloudy, often threatening lighting. Probably a lot of fog. It’s the best we can come up with to discourage anyone from trying to use the air force, and no one is going to want to move around in it very much, even if it might not actually _stop_ ground troops from doing anything.”

The room was quiet.

“ _‘The best we can come up with’_ is _controlling_ the _**weather?**_ ” Soldati asked, astounded.

“We should be able to flood things too,” Nia offered. “Break water mains, at least. Some of the Thálassians should be able to manage that, and if not them then maybe some of the Buyanov can be taken off the weather, but I don’t know how effective they would be. If we can force the armies to come at us over the Apennines then there’s a _lot_ more we can do to stall or kill them. The problem is, again, manpower. It’s getting enough people who _can_ to come do it.”

“But they’re _feasible options._ ”

“Absolutely.”

Soldati looked like he was about to say something, but then he caught sight of the Pope and thought better of it.

“It’s not going to be a very direct war, for us,” Nia concluded. “It won’t even be guerilla tactics. It’ll be a lot of sabotage while they’re still far away to _keep_ them far away; and then if they get here, using the city to our advantage. We should have more of a plan for how to do that by then.”

* * *

The meeting of the Presidents of the Veneto, Friuli Venezia Giulia, and Trentino-Alto Adige took place sooner than Feliciano would really have liked. It had been two days since the political split in Rome, and he’d spent a lot of that time talking to people to figure out what they wanted and trying to gauge the public response to what had happened, but two days wasn’t _nearly_ enough to have talked to a big enough group of people.

They were meeting in Venice, since it was the biggest city in the area and the only Nation they had to rally to was _him,_ but it didn’t make Feliciano feel any better. His city was too quiet. The tourists had fled, and the ones who hadn’t managed to go yet were staying in, scared. It wasn’t height tourist season, but all the same- Venice lived on tourism. The northeast in general was big on manufacturing, which could be a good thing for the area; but the workforce wasn’t inclined to move much right now, either. There were plenty of southerners who came north for these jobs, and they were waiting to see what happened.

Hopefully what would happen with this meeting was a consensus about what to do, but at the moment the atmosphere was a little strained. The Presidents could accept Isabella Guarneri’s presence as the Mayor of Venice, even if that wouldn’t have been acceptable before, since Venice was defaulting to the capital of this strange, forcibly-exiled state. But it was another thing altogether to sit in a room with Amphitrite Kataiis in her capacity as Empress of Póli Thálassas and Queen of All Waters, since technically she had no authority here.

It was a lie, of course. Feliciano had always kept a hand in the working and running of his own city, no matter what else he was involved in on a national level, and with Venice slowly getting more and more attached to Póli Thálassas through him, Amphitrite might not have any _legal_ authority, but she was still a major political entity that had to be accounted for in the municipal government. But right now, what she was was a reminder to the others of _why_ they were in this mess.

“It’s a legitimacy issue,” Iacopo Salomon said, sounding apologetic. “They’re both claiming they’re Italy, but Rome is saying they’re not, and we’re sitting here with half the Republic who says that it’s a different country now. But if we just _drop_ Italy, aren’t we as bad as them?”

“They kicked us out,” the President of Friuli Venezia Giulia reminded her counterpart from Venedo. “And unlike everyone else, we can _prove_ it. They both said so. We didn’t drop it.”

“ _Signorina_ Scarsi, I don’t think we can make a legitimate claim to _not_ doing that when we have _Signor_ Costa.”

“Well, if you don’t want to look like _them,_ you can’t claim to be Italy.”

“Why would we _want_ to claim to be Italy?” Frederico Rocca asked. “We had nationalist movements almost forty years ago- I got into politics on the one for Trentino-Alto Adige. We can do it again.”

“I didn’t know you worked for the nationalists,” Iacopo said.

“It was a good time,” Frederico said. “We never quite got to the point where we had our own Nation, but we were _close,_ I’m sure of it. If only the GfL and Cuba hadn’t-”

“You had Nations,” Feliciano interrupted.

Frederico looked taken aback.

“What?”

“For seven months,” Feliciano said. “September 2047 to May 2048, the high point of the movements. They lived here. With me. I was trying to take care of them, because their children were still living in my house- um, their people where still part of my country- and they were just children themselves and couldn’t live on their own and needed someone to take care of them and teach them about being a Nation. I never met Trient, Frederico, because Südtirol had her hide from me somewhere. But Südtirol _really_ didn’t like me, it was adorable. She was that big-”

He held his hand flat over the floor at about the height of the table.

“-and always insisted that I call her ‘Viktoria’ and not ‘Vittoria’ and she got all excited about meeting Lu- Germany.”

“Did we have one?” President Scarsi asked.

“Two, just like Frederico,” Feliciano confirmed. “Lurinz and Zuliana. Lurinz was pretty happy after a little bit as long as I spoke Furlan with him and Zuliana was so _sweet,_ Natalia, she always wanted me to brush her hair and do it up and read her books and _oh,_ they were all just such wonderful little babies I wish I could have kept them!”

“Um-”

“Not like that!” Feliciano told Frederico hastily. “Not like that! To raise, you know, and keep an eye on; there are so few new Nations and when you get a little one they’re always special and it might not be _fun_ when they leave but if you do it right then you can still be family and they reminded me of my children when they were little.”

“I didn’t know you two had children,” Isabella Guarneri said, looking between her Nation and Amphitrite Kataiis. “Am I ever going to meet them?”

Feliciano realized he’d talked himself into a corner and blanched.

“Oh no, we don’t have any children,” Amphitrite said. “I think we should. But we don’t.”

“But I thought you’ve been married for centuries,” Isabella said doubtfully. “Since before the city was founded.”

“Do we have to talk about this?” Feliciano asked Amphitrite in Thálassian. She ignored him.

“We have been,” she said. “He cheated on me with Germany. He didn’t tell anyone we were married so he got away with marrying Ludwig, who I’m sure must have been a very good man to have prompted the levels of devotion I’ve seen in his family since. It takes a lot of love to feel so betrayed by a loss that you go for revenge against a demon.”

“Wait. Wait,” Frederico said. “ _Signor_ Costa, your daughter is the _Jagdsprinz?_ ”

“Younger daughter,” Amphitrite corrected before Feliciano could say anything. “There are three of them, I met most of them briefly but they seemed like very nice people, and it would probably be quite easy to arrange to meet all of them once you declare your own country. The elder one works for the UN and the Jagdsprinz would have to come to talk to me once you declare it since I would be part of it; but son lives in the city, so you can walk down to La Fenice almost any time and meet him without going through all of that.”

 _“What,”_ Iacopo said.

“With all due respect, Empress Kataiis,” Isabella said, a little sternly. “Those statements contained a lot of assumptions.”

“How did you two even _have_ children?” Natalia asked, completely confused.

“We had the money for the procedure that switches out the genetic material in an egg for something else and then we had children, okay,” Feliciano said, wishing he could merge the chair, or perhaps the floor. “Amphitrite, do we _really_ have to talk about this right now.”

“Yes,” she informed him. “Because I have a point to make. You shouldn’t claim that you _are_ Italy; you should claim that you’re _loyal_ to Italy, and start setting up to run your own affairs until the time when everyone else starts arguing since clearly you won’t be getting any outside help. This puts you on the side of Rome, which is the side of the Jagdsprinz, who is your family and siding with her might help her hate you less- besides the Jagdsprinz’s position being the only right one- and then when everything with the other Italies inevitably falls through and everyone gives up on trying to reunite the country then you already have something in place to immediately make official and start running your own affairs. It will cut down on the societal turbulence.”

The room was silent for a moment has Amphitrite smiled, blandly pleasant and self-satisfied.

“That’s very-” Iacopo paused to search for an appropriate word that was still diplomatic. “ _Pragmatic_ of you.”

“It sounds underhanded,” Frederico said bluntly. He was the oldest human in the room and had the most political experience. He wasn’t particularly worried about giving his opinions.

“I want to talk about Empress Kataiis’ assumptions,” Isabella said. “Specifically the one where it sounds like we become part of Póli Thálassas.”

“Now is no time for your idealism, _Signor_ Rocca,” Natalia told him.

“On the contrary, when you’re constructing a country is _exactly_ the time to be idealistic,” Frederico disagreed. “But I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I just said it was underhanded; and being underhanded for a good cause is rather exciting thought. I’ve always wanted to see if I could pull it off.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it of you,” Iacopo said. “You don’t seem the type.”

“We are _not_ becoming part of Póli Thálassas,” Isabella insisted, pressing her point.

“I thought you already were,” Iacopo said. “You’ve certainly been _acting_ like it.”

“But we _weren’t_ and we’re not _going_ to be,” Isabella said. “We are not switching a democratically-run republic for a monarchy.”

“Good,” Feliciano said. “I never had a king as Venice and I don’t want one now that I’m on my own again.”

“But they have a King,” Amphitrite told him. “It’s you. This is your opportunity to fix that they don’t listen to you.”

“That’s not how we do things here, Amphitrite, we’ve talked about this-”

“So you would rather that you stay a slave under orders than take your autonomy for yourself when given the chance?” Amphitrite asked in Thálassian. This was not for the humans to hear. “I had not thought that of you, Venezia.”

That brought Feliciano up short. It was a nice thought, to never have a boss again, not like _that-_ but he didn’t entertain the hope for too long. It would never work.

“I’m not Cuba,” he told her. “I don’t have years of government to overthrow. They wouldn’t accept it.”

“I fail to see why they wouldn’t,” Amphitrite said, and then switched back to Italian to bring the humans back into the conversation. “He is your Nation and therefore your King, by Honalee’s laws and under the Jagdsprinz’s Pact. He is at least twenty-eight centuries old and has more knowledge of humanity and government and politics and war and _life_ than you could ever hope to gain. He is well when the people and state are well, sick when they are sick, angry when they are angry, and joyful when they are joyful. When the state is powerful, he is powerful. When the people are proud, he is _invincible._ Why would you _not_ confirm his as your King?”

“Maybe we’re unhealthily attached to the idea of a democracy,” Iacopo said sarcastically.

“If you’re so attached to your traditions, then don’t call him _‘King’_ ,” Amphitrite said with a dismissive shrug. “Feliciano can be called Doge. It will be the same thing.”

 _“No,”_ Feliciano said. “ _No;_ it’s _really_ -”

“A democracy and a republic aren’t the same thing,” Natalia told Amphitrite. “A democracy is where the citizens vote. A republic is where the power to run the state is with the people.”

“Well I don’t see what the problem is, then,” Amphitrite said. “Venezia _is_ the people. How do you get more republican than that?”

“We can start by not having a _monarch-_ ”

“You had a monarch less than two centuries ago. You can have one again.”

“Yes, and _no one **liked** him._”

“You’re not asserting yourself enough, Feliciano,” Amphitrite said. “Lavinia had never even had anything to do with government, and _she_ wasn’t shy about taking up her power.”

“She took it up in _Honalee,_ Amphitrite,” Feliciano reminded her. “Not on Earth. The only people on Earth who care about her as a head of state and government are Liechtenstein and the city government of Martigny. And sometimes the VRG. People don’t _believe_ in kings anymore, not the way they used to.”

“Well,” Amphitrite said. “We are married and you are their King. Póli Thálassas and Venice are two parts of the same whole and yet they still treat you as a half-respected symbol from a backwards era they cannot easily rid themselves of, and so reduce you to minor bureaucratic functions. To them you are a token of _their_ legitimacy, instead of the power you really are and should rightfully hold. They have stolen it from you and they think nothing of it. It’s about time they learned better.”

The room descended into uncomfortable silence. The humans were very aware of how inconsiderate Amphitrite was being, but they didn’t want to argue too much with her. She’d demonstrated her power and the power of her people too well in the last twenty-seven years for anyone to seriously risk offending her. Feliciano was the only one who, they felt, would be able to properly address the arrogant bias of the Empress and Queen.

But he wasn’t saying anything, either.

Eventually, Frederico coughed, very awkwardly, to break the silence.

“ _Signor_ Co-”

He cut himself off.

“Venezia,” he said instead. “What do _you_ want?”

“I don’t know what I want,” he said. “My people are still waiting-”

“No,” Frederico interrupted him. “I don’t want to know what the people want. I want to know what _you_ , Venezia, want.”

“Oh no, Frederico,” Feliciano said. “That’s not how you phrase that. You call me _‘Venezia’_ if you want to know what the country wants. If you want to know what _I_ want then you ask Feliciano.”

“But why?” Frederico asked. “It seems to me that you’re the same person. You can’t _stop_ being a Nation.”

“Well, no,” Feliciano told him, choosing for the moment not to address the fifteen years of his life he’d lived without a Nation’s concerns. “Venezia, Trivento, Italia Veneziano- they’re the Nation. Feliciano is the person.”

“But Nations are people,” Natalia said. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s-”

Feliciano didn’t particularly want to talk about it, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to back out of explaining this. Knowledge was very much power in this situation- humans who didn’t know they could control Nations were ones who couldn’t consciously abuse it. There were times you _did_ tell humans, mostly to explain yourself, or maybe if you really _really_ trusted someone to take it as a warning against hurting you that way.

The only humans he’d ever trusted completely with information were his children.

“The person is for private things,” he said. “It’s where you- the Nation can be controlled. Ordered. Ordered to- to _do_ things. To hurt people. To not act one way, or to not to say certain things. To think a certain way. To _feel_ a certain way. You can’t trust the Nation with- with the things you love or things you like or the things you care about, because those could be destroyed as soon as the pers-”

No; no that wasn’t right. If he was going to be honest, he was going to be _brutally_ honest.

 _“You,”_ Feliciano told them. “The things that make you, your emotions and your thoughts. _‘They may take our lives, but they will never take our freedom!’_ Well. The _human_ in charge of you can’t take your life. But they _can_ take your freedom. They _will_ take it, and you can’t stop it. So you don’t give anything you care about to the Nation. You don’t tell anyone; because if the _humans_ found out they could take it from you. So that’s what the person is. They’re not the Nations, because the person is private. The person can’t be touched. Not if you keep the important things secret. If nobody knows about it, it can’t be forbidden.”      

He stared down at his hands and tried to convince them to unclench, and will away the weight in his throat preventing him from speaking any more. Feliciano was acutely aware, suddenly, of all the things that couldn’t afford to be said. The things that were still too ostracized to bring up- the biggest one, the hardest to hide, the dresses and shoes and skirt suits in the trunk in the apartments and the makeup hiding in the bathroom cabinet.

The secrets that been shared with Ludwig, in trust; that Amphitrite had not yet heard and might never hear.

“That sounds really unhealthy,” Iacopo said. The words sounded like a ridiculous platitude. Almost anything would, after that.

“We could compromise,” Frederico offered, after another few moments. “You won’t be a monarch; but we could make you Head of State. No one could tell you what do then. There would be things you wouldn’t be _allowed_ to do, Constitutionally, but no one would have the authority to give you orders. We’d have to work out the details, but otherwise…”

“I wouldn’t be elected,” Feliciano said. “I don’t think people would accept that.”

“I think they’d accept more than you’d think,” Isabella told him. “Maybe you haven’t thought of it, _Signor_ Costa, but you and Empress Kataiis and _Signor_ Rocca are the only ones in this room who remember a time when Cuba _wasn’t_ ruled by the authority of its Nation; or a time before the VRG, where a Nation serves as General for the Landenswehr. And in Venice, anyway, people are used to the idea of you and power. The Thálassians always call you _‘King Venezia’_ and treat Kings as an inviolable in their own lands unless the Jagdsprinz has to get involved. They’ve made it very clear that Nations are Kings, and it’s not like they’ve been shy talking to any humans in the city. I don’t know about my parents’ generation, or my grandparents’, but it might even be stranger _not_ to give you some sort of formal acknowledgement of your authority. I’ve never lived in Venice where there _weren’t_ Thálassians acting like you were royalty, both from being married to their Empress and being a Nation. That’s the Venice my children will grow up in, and my grandchildren. In a hundred years, there won’t be anyone fully human left alive who knows anything different. But you, God willing, will still be here. So I think you should get some sort of assurance about your, um, personal security. Especially since you’ve lived so long without it. Besides that it’s all not right.”

“If we do this,” Natalia said. “I’m going to think of it like forward planning. And there had better be something in the Constitution about continuing to protect the Autonomous Regions.”

“Former Autonomous Regions are going to be two-thirds of the entire country,” Iacopo countered. “I don’t think you need special protection any longer.”

“It’s always better to keep protections than to get rid of them,” Frederico said.

“Details can be worked out later,” Feliciano told them. “It- you all really want to do this? To form a new country?”

“Is it what the people want?” Frederico asked him.

“I-”

He closed his eyes and thought about it for a minute, feeling out the will of his people.

“Yes,” he said. “If you propose it, it will be accepted.”

“Then I think we should.”

“Vote on it.”

The vote was unanimous between the four human leaders. Feliciano hadn’t expected anything different.

“So what are we now?” Iacopo asked. “The Triveneto? It doesn’t sound particularly- I’m not sure what. Dignified, maybe. It’s a sort of historical term, but it doesn’t have the weight claiming to be for the Italian Republic does.”

“Are we not supporting a reunified Italy now?” Natalia wanted to know.

“There’s not really any reason _not_ to,” Feliciano said. “Neither of the sides wants us. We could say we’re just following the wishes of the majority of Italians and removing ourselves from the conflict. _I_ wouldn’t mind the country reunifying.”

“I know it’s _my_ city and all,” Isabella said. “But _Signor_ Costa _is_ our Nation. We could just call ourselves the Republic of Venice. Maybe the Second Republic of Venice. That has weight, and historical continuity. Being officially the _‘Second’_ one also gives us a lot of room to change things.”

   “We can worry about names later,” Frederico said. “The first issue should be that Trentino-Alto Adige has now officially decided _not_ to side with North Italy, which claims us. We need some sort of protection- it’s time to move the military units that were stationed in the area that decided to be loyal to _us_ to protect that border.”

“If only,” Feliciano sighed. “We had a Navy.”

“A Navy wouldn’t do us any good at the moment, _Signor_ Costa.”

“I know,” he said. “But you started talking about _‘Republics’_ and _‘Venice’_ and now I’m thinking about ships. Big ones. Ones for trading and ones for fighting and ones for sailing and it’s very distracting. I _liked_ my Navy.”

“We should go to the Jagdsprinz,” Amphitrite said, surreptitiously patting his knee comfortingly. “If you say that you belong with us and _we_ say that you belong with us, then anyone else trying to change that is involved in _‘warlike actions’_ under the Tripartite Treaty, and generally in violating the sovereignty of a King. Two Kings, in this case; which makes it doubly worse under the statues of the Jagdsprinz’s Pact.”

“The Hunt won’t come,” Feliciano told her. “Nia hates me.”

“Oh, Lavinia will not be _happy,_ ” Amphitrite said. “But she is the Jagdsprinz. She _will_ come; if not to stay then at least to post some Jäger. I will go inform her that we are establishing our own state- in this Constitution idea you are all so fond of, I must insist that the exact relation between Póli Thálassas and yourselves is clearly explained- and the Hunt will come. It is her duty.”

* * *

Nico was not really sure how he felt about the plan to keep the militaries down. Weather wasn’t something you could just _change_ without consequences. If it was different in one place- in Rome- it was going to affect the rest of the peninsula, at _least._

But keeping it cloudy and wet- foggy, damp, sometimes rain and thunderstorms- and cold _would_ make moving around outside for long periods hell. Of course, it wouldn’t be fun for the _Polizia_ or the Carabinieri or the Jäger, either, but at least they hopefully wouldn’t have to worry about an air strike on the city; and maybe people and vehicles would get bogged down in mud or they could get the roads to ice over or something.

Which, of course, would make their supply lines a disaster. The Hunt could arrange to be the intermediary between Rome and food suppliers and other merchants, and bring things in through the World Gate, but with the trickle of defected- or loyal, depending on how you were looking at it- soldiers back to Rome, the edges of the line that marked the edge of Hunt-protected Rome would expand. And that wasn’t counting the volunteers the Hunt was going to ask for soon.

Nico just didn’t know if the Hunt had enough capacity to move food and supplies like that. Right now the Italies were sitting on the roads and routes people shipped things into Rome on. There wouldn’t be any airlifts of supplies, either, because of the weather that would fully set in in a few days.

It would be better if they had a sea border. Nia wouldn’t be happy about expanding that far away from the actual city boundaries; but it would have to be done to keep people from starving.

Nico didn’t like how much _he_ seemed to be the one who had to convince the Jagdsprinz to do things she didn’t want to.  

Starting sooner rather than later was the way to go in that case, so he took the short walk to Castel Sant’Angelo to hunt her down and start the process. He walked around the entire castle, increasingly frustrated by his inability to find her. Finally, he came across Arik, who was very clearly out-of-sorts.

“ _Elti_?” he asked. “Queen Amphitrite came to get her to go to Venice. They’ve decided to form their own country, since the other Italies don’t want anything to do with them. She’ll be back later, I don’t know how much.”

“What’s wrong?” Nico had to ask. Arik was trying to inch down the corridor, casting sideways glances at the nearby closed door like he’d eaten something unpleasant.”

“ _Cassiel Navin_ is here,” Arik said. “He probably wants to talk with _Elti_ but she’s not here so _you_ can talk to him.”

Nico was, quite suddenly, alone in the corridor. He sighed, braced himself to deal with cousin, and went into the room.

“Get out of here before Nia gets back, Cass,” he said. “You’re one of two people on her list of _‘people to never speak to’_ ; and she’s off dealing with the other one right now. She’s only going to be even angrier if she comes back and finds _you_ here.”

“But there are _things_ to learn,” Cassiel protested. “That was almost thirty years ago now. She can’t _still_ be angry.”

“Nia,” Nico told him. “Is _very good_ at being angry. She’s had a lot of practice. And a _hundred_ years wouldn’t be enough for you, Cass- she picked her son up off your office _floor_ and had to talk to your _secretary_ about what was going on because _you_ weren’t even _there_. Arik would have _died._ ”

“No he wouldn’t have,” Cassiel said, sounding a little affronted. “He’s Pict and- _Seelenkind_ , that’s how you’re calling it now, right? He’d have been _fine._ ”

“This is why she doesn’t _like you._ ”

“But I have to _know,_ ” the other man insisted. “It’s _Nations._ I figured out how Prussia survived, he managed to twist having to be anchored into _people_ into being anchored to Ludwig-Dietrich; and Austria came to ask me to save him but that didn’t really work, and now _Sardinia_ has taken north Italy but _Veneziano_ is still around and I want to know _how._ ”

“You did _what?_ ” Nico asked, appalled.

“What?” Cassiel asked. “I haven’t done anything.”

_“Austria.”_

“Oh. Well, that didn’t really work. The VRG took his land and people anyway.”

“God _dammit,_ Cassiel!” Nico exploded. “That’s _not yours_ to mess with! The lives of Nations on Earth and the time of their deaths is the _Jagdsprinz’s_ business! If you _take_ some power that’s one of the Kings’ to have, _especially_ the Jagdsprinz’s, she’s obliged to _kill_ you! Luisa Costa _just_ skimmed by because _she_ was only being monumentally stupid while drunk, and there was a way to construe it that would still end up in a punishment where she wouldn’t have to die! But if _you’d_ succeeded, Cass, it would have been willful! And you’ve _already_ been pretty _fucking_ shady- you wouldn’t _get_ a chance!”

“Well that’s not fair at _all,”_ Cassiel complained. “I mean, _clearly_ she was already into nepotism, but this is _hypocrisy._ ”

 _“Excuse you,”_ Nico said. “There is _not_ nepotism.”

“Arik and Mosè have been in the Hunt less than a year and they’re _already_ Kommandanten?” Cassiel asked. “And _you’re_ a Leutnant. I mean, you’ve been with the Hunt for a while, but you’re not _that_ good at magic.”

“You have no idea good I am!”

“If you were _that_ good you’d be working for me.”

“Arik and Mosè are Kommandanten already because they came _in_ trained with skills the Hunt needed,” Nico explained, trying not to yell. He’d gotten close enough already. “And they joined the _Departments,_ not the Regiments. The Departments are _tiny,_ and just like the Zauberer- which _I_ command- their officers have to be rank-equivalent with the Regiments so they have enough power. The Regiments are growing, the Departments _aren’t,_ so the Department officers get promotions every time we’ve had to add a new level. And I would _never_ work for you, Cass, I have no idea how you managed to convince János to sign on with you; or Ásdís and Øystein to stay after that shit you pulled on them with the Pict.”

“Navin Technologies is the most important thing they’ll ever do,” Cassiel said. “And they know it. They won’t leave. So how is Veneziano still alive when Sardinia is _Nord Italia_ now? What sort of magic did he do?”

“There wasn’t any magic, it was all politics,” Nico told him. “Magic doesn’t solve everything. Now get out of here before Nia gets back or I decide that the Hunt would be better served by arresting you _now_ for Austria and convince the rest of your executive board that an internal investigation is in their best interests.”

“Of _course_ magic can solve everything,” Cassiel said, ignoring the rest of what Nico had said. “It’s kept you alive. And it’s gotten humanity to space and I’m going to terraform Mars and it’s going to be _awesome._ That’s all magic.”

“I could probably get away with killing you.”

Cassiel snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Like _you_ could kill me,” he said. “Or _anyone._ Once you add magic to Nations’ children we’re basically immortal. You’ve gotten fatally shot at least twice now, and I tested some other possibilities. Poisonous substances don’t do anything.”

He started ticking them off on his fingers.

“Bleeding out doesn’t work. Hanging. Jumping off tall things. Dehydration. Starvation-”

“Have you _completely_ lost it, Cassiel?” Nico demanded.

“Of course not,” Cassiel retorted. “I’m teaching Svana about magic. I had her supervise so she could call emergency services if I needed it.”

“Do her _mothers_ know what you’re doing with her around?”

“She’s an adult now. And _I_ don’t know what she tells her parents.”

Nico took a deep breath, resisted the urge to shake himself, and opened the door sharply, sweeping his free hand at it in a clear _‘leave’_ gesture.

“The Jagdsprinz can kill Nations,” he told Cassiel. “Do you _really_ want her to come back here, already angry, and have her find out that you were fucking around with trying to keep Austria alive? Because I can’t see that going well.”

Cassiel looked like he was about to say something, but then actually thought better about opening his mouth and sulked in place instead.

“At least tell me how much of the LP series you want to order first.”

“We’re not buying any,” Nico informed him. “They have a fatal flaw.”

“You’re messing with me,” Cassiel said. “They do _not._ ”

“Do I look like I’m lying?” Nico asked. “They do. Now go fix it.”

“Well, what is it?”

“You’re supposed to be some sort of techno-magical genius,” Nico said. “Figure it out _yourself._ ”  

* * *

Nia returned from Venice, to no one’s surprise, angry. So Nico didn’t tell her that Cassiel had come by, just trailed her around letting her be angry and mitigating the fallout and agreeing when she finally decided to send Terenzia’s 2nd Company 3rd Reiter to the Venetians, and attach Mosè as an observer for the Constitution drafting.

In the next week, the call went out from the Hunt for non-contracting volunteers. There was a large response, mostly from the Honalenier, as expected. But the humans who came were an intriguing bunch.

“There are _Australians,_ ” Diana said at the next General Staff meeting. “The Swiss and other Germans are unsurprising. The Italians make sense. The translators come from an assortment of places, so I guess I’m not really surprised. But people are coming from other _continents_ to fight. Not very many. But still.”

“Mercenaries?” the Mayor asked. He, or someone he sent, sat in on these meetings for now, along with the Vatican.

“I don’t _think_ so.”

“You always have some people, in war, who are willing to travel long distances,” Cristoforo said. “It used to be much more common in Europe.”

“Well, they know about the Hunt and they know it’s _us_ defending Rome,” Gretchen Klein said. “They might think that choosing the right side is easy.”

The volunteers were grafted into the Hunt’s command structure. As many as could be spared were diverted to the Hilfstruppen Departments or Logistics to fill the dire need for support staff- it wasn’t enough, and the Hauptmänner and Offizieren still had to keep the majority of their administrative duties or delegate them amongst the Unteroffizieren, but at least the volunteers kept them from getting any _more_ things to deal with.

The horrendous weather did exactly what it was supposed to. There were a few attempts at using aircraft early on, maybe for reconnaissance, maybe for war, they never found out. But some warning lightning strikes in clear skies was enough to keep them grounded. No one had the money at the moment to replace planes, nor could they justify the loss of the pilots if they would never even get near Rome. They quickly figured out, however, that the strange, terrible weather was local to Rome and the surrounding area. There was nothing stopping them from fighting somewhere else.

Later in March, North and South Italy joined in battle on the Adriatic side of the Apennines, in a town called Giulianova in Abruzzo. The Hunt used this opportunity to solidify their protection of the city and spread west to the Tyrrhenian to secure Fiumicino and Ostia and the possibility of shipping lanes.

North Italy had the naval yards in La Spezia, halfway between Genoa and Pisa. When the ships tried to move, it was discovered that most of them had an absurd level of seemingly-natural structural damage to their hulls. One of the ships that was untouched sailed all the way to Fiumicino, where, once it had stopped within sight of the mouth of the Tiber, a group of sea serpents rose out of the Tyrrhenian and wrenched it apart. The sailors that survived swam to shore themselves or were fished out by Thálassian Jäger and volunteers, then immediately taken into custody.

The police in Aosta, about an hour and a half down the road in the Grand Saint Bernard Pass from Martigny, found the sailors looking for someplace to stay around three o’clock in the morning three days later. They had to explain to the police that the Hunt had kept them long enough to ask them some questions- politely- then told them they couldn’t spend the resources to keep prisoners of war, and turned them out. The highest surviving officer had an open letter for the North Italian government concerning the fate of any further motions towards trying to block the shipment of supplies into Rome and the surrounding area.

A couple hours later, the armies in Abruzzo woke up to find that meters-long stretches of major highways had been torn up.   

Throughout April, rivers flooded suddenly and bridges washed out, roads became impassible because of surface damage or mysterious mudslides. The weather turned cold, wet, and nasty for no apparent reason; and it stayed that way.

Some infantry groups were sent into the Apennines. Only a few people ever reported back; and the only stories they had were of the rest of their groups being picked off, one by one, so fast in the dark or heavy cover that they didn’t even know how long they’d been alone before they realized what had happened. The entire length of the Apennines became a logistics nightmare for everyone, military and civilian. No one starved, but there were definite shortages.

In May, Santiana Luxi stood outside the entrance to Castel Sant’Angelo and refused to move until the Jagdsprinz came out to talk to her.

“If you want to fight us, then _fight us!_ ” North Italy demanded.

“We don’t _want_ to fight you!” the Jagdsprinz snapped at her. “We want you to stop fighting _each other!_ ”

_“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!”_

The Jagdsprinz crossed her arms.

“What was it _supposed_ to be like?”

“They were all so _angry,_ ” Santiana told her. “They couldn’t stand what Venice was doing. There was an opportunity for me to move in, to get the part of the Republic that’s rightfully _mine-_ the North that he _stole._ But they were just supposed to shove him off to the side, like how _I_ was. They weren’t supposed to _dissolve_ the _Republic!_ That’s not what I _wanted!_ ”

The Jagdsprinz told her to tell her government that the sooner they gave up on this whole business, the sooner everyone could get what they wanted and come back to Rome.

By June 2nd, which should have been celebrated as _Festa della Reppublica_ , the civil war had ground to a standstill. The loop of land bound by E80 and A24 on the Adriatic side of the Apennines was a perpetual battleground, confined to infantry and artillery, the fighting never going further north than Teramo and Giulianova or further south than Pescara and Chieti, and never even got far enough west to reach L’Aquila. The attrition rate was horrendous whenever there was an outburst of fighting, but the mechanical failures that both sides were suffering, coupled with the supply line raids and the waves of sickness that the weather and close conditions were breeding kept things at a constant, lower level of violence, people holing up in position in some town or block and simply not leaving, taking potshots when the opportunity arose.  

No one had the extra resources or the logistical means to mount a separate attack on Rome, on the Tyrrhenian side of the Apennines. The North could barely afford to do anything more than occasionally harass the border of Trentino-Alto Adige, and the South was tangled in corruption.

Finally, Lovino Agresta had had _enough._

* * *

“This is the least-affected city under siege that I’ve ever seen,” Vespasiana Marconi said when they came to Rome.

“It’s pretty fucking debatable how _‘under siege’_ they actually _are,_ ” Lovino grumbled to her.

They managed to get lunch at a restaurant, which was very grateful for the patronage. The food wasn’t as good as it would have been before the civil war- which, though it had torn up a section of Abruzzo and affected the prices in Rome, was having very little other impact on the world of foreign media. The biggest effects were hard to show on-camera.

“They picked a good mayor,” Santiana commented offhandedly later in the day, as they took the time to actually walk to Castel Sant’Angelo and passed a mixed Carabinieri and Hunt patrol headed back to report in. The weather was terrible for it and it wasn’t helping either of their moods, but it let them take a good look at the city. “And the Hunt appears to be operating smoothly with the civilian population. Nia is doing a good job.”

“Yeah, wonderful, great for Rome,” Lovino said. “Shit for _us._ ”

They were met by Nico outside of Sant’Angelo. Lovino hadn’t been particularly quiet, Nationally speaking, about his presence in the city. Nico got them into the Castel and to the room where Nia was waiting, with Diana and Dariya and Hiruz.   

Lovino didn’t bother to give any sort of introduction to the topic- he just went straight for it.

“The government is _infested_ with organized crime and it’s destroying the government. Laganà and Muraro don’t like it but they’re too damn scared to do anything.”

“We asked if _we_ could do something about it,” Vespasiana picked up. “They said that if we thought we could do something, we should do it. They practically ordered us to make it our business.”

“So we’re making it _your_ business,” Lovino concluded. “We would lodge a petition, Jagdsprinz, against these men. They have infringed upon our authority and violated their duties as citizens to serve and protect their fellow humans and their state. The human government has proven _multiple_ times that they cannot adequately deal with this corruption. So we come to you as Kings to ask for the Wild Hunt’s judgment upon them.”

Nia stared at them for a minute.

“That’s-” she started to say. “That’s a bit of a _wide_ interpretation of a violation of my Pact.”

“I daresay that Kommandant Costa would approve,” Lord Hiruz said. “If he were here.”

“It’s not any wider than your own justification for intervening on Rome’s behalf,” Vespasiana told Nia. “It is the exact inverse of your logic behind declaring the governments illegitimate.”

“I didn’t come up with that,” Nia said. “Mosè did.”

“Then there can be no fault to this petition,” Lord Hiruz said. “You have decreed this relationship to be under your purview already, my Prince. We are beholden to it now.”

“There is a strategic fault,” Dariya said, very reluctantly. She clearly didn’t want to bring it up, but her duty to serve the Jagdsprinz to her best ability overrode all. “The corruption is paralyzing the southern side of the war. Removing it will allow the fighting to escalate.”

“We _came_ to you,” Lovino said angrily. “We _came_ to _you;_ you _can’t_ ignore-”

“We’re not going to, King _Napoli_ ,” the Jagdsprinz told him. “Our duty comes before the war. I will need time to organize and plan, so we do not fail our promises in Rome and Honalee.”

She looked over at Sicily, for a moment, to include her in her next statement.

“With our help, you acknowledge our authority to operate on your lands. Do you still wish to ask?”

“Until the end of my Kingship or the Hunt’s authority, Jagdsprinz,” Sicily told her solemnly.

“While you’re at it,” South Italy said. “Maybe you can audit my government, too.”

* * *

Nico and Diana avoided arguing with Nia about being allowed to handle the crime bust by the simple expedient of not telling her they were organizing it. Nico went to speak to Arik about conducting pre-attack reconnaissance, and Arik took some of the wind and water spirits off of keeping taps on Florence- in spying, at least, they had a glut of potential recruits- to check on the state of Diana’s remembered personal knowledge about the various families and groups. The intelligence was just over thirty years old, but it gave them a place to start. Arik passed on what they found- a list of people in charge, locations, and the outlines of the operations they’d found.

Diana backed off of Supply and Finances, using the opportunity to test the Kommandanten and Hauptmänner in her Department on their competency and ability to coordinate without central supervision. After an adjustment period, they managed well enough. Once she felt comfortable about leaving them alone, she quietly talked to Kommandant Yurivitch about where Jäger could be reshuffled and who would have the most useful abilities.

That was where Nia found out what they were doing.

“And _when_ were you going to tell me you were doing this?” she demanded of them.

“Once we’d decided who would be best to take,” Diana told her. “Then I would have requisitioned the best armor we had, Nico and I would have compiled the plan into a briefing, and given it to you.”

Much to Nia’s annoyance, it was a good plan. She officially put them in charge of organizing and executing the operation and assigned a surprisingly-large selection of Jäger to them- they got 1st Company 3rd Reiter under Hauptmann Avskenti, all of 6th Husar under Kommandant Kishor Hánguō, and all of 1st Dragoner, which was Marcell’s command. Siegrike came with 1st Company 3rd Reiter, which, since the detachment of 2nd Company to Venice, was everything she had to supervise. Diana, whom Nico had completely ceded command authority to, seconded Hauptmann Avskenti to Kommandant Hánguō’s command and made Siegrike her second-in-command; since there was no real reason for a Kommandant to have a single Hauptmann, especially not one with Siegrike’s seniority and experience.

They assembled for the pre-staging of the operation from an open field outside of Rome. It was two o’clock in the morning; and found Nia already there, in armor, with the Hounds.

“You need me for legitimacy,” she said. “Huīhéng is in command in Martinach, Bayarigh in Ordon Khot, Dariya here, and Terenzia and Mosè jointly in Venice. Lord Hiruz can stand in my place for a day or two.”

“This is going to take longer than two days,” Nico warned.

“I know that,” Nia told him. “But so long as I show that I know what you’re doing, and that I’ve sanctioned it, your authority should hold.”

She looked around at the assembled officers.

“But if you do wrong without me around, the consequences will have to be worse.”

“Yes, Jagdsprinz,” they said.

They hit Naples, first, as the center of the corruption. No one saw them coming, and terror spread into the city from their passing. The Jagdsprinz had not called up her power, to endow her Jäger and affect the Hunted- this was not a matter that they could spare the whole Hunt for. The power came for every Jäger, or not at all.

But most of the Jäger Nia had assigned for the duty were Honalenier. There was an internal divide in the Regiments- the Dragoner, the mounted infantry, were more likely to be human. The Husar and Dragoner, the light and heavy cavalry, were more likely to be Honalenier. They had the smallest Regiment of Husar, only two Companies, and a Reiter Company. One of the Hauptmänner for 6th Husar, Magda Eisenhart, was human- but she was notorious in the Regiments for being just as bloody-minded as any Honalenier. Marcell, commanding 1st Dragoner, and Hauptmann Marco Adimari of his 3rd Company, were the other human officers. There were humans scattered throughout the Unteroffiziers and regular Jäger, but 1st Dragoner, which otherwise would have been a concentration of humans, had been the first regiment Regiment formed, back in the first years when the humans were still working out how they felt about the Hunt. There hadn’t been many humans around, and once there had been, they had formed the bulk of 2nd through 5th Dragoner. So, 1st Dragoner was the most Honalenier-heavy Dragoner Regiment.

It showed, that day. Some things the Hunt took out in mid-operation, on the street or in a warehouse or in the back of a shop, clearly public spaces. The Hunt didn’t have a warrant of the sort that would be accepted in court, but the acknowledgement of the Nations involved was enough for everyone to feel comfortable doing work outside.

It was when the trail of connections from person to person that Nia and the Hounds traced- supported by the work Arik and his spies had done- took them away from the public spaces that the humans started to get uncomfortable.

They caught a lot of criminals in their beds, the dismounted Dragoner breaking down doors and storming houses. The Honalenier, secure in their life-long knowledge of the Jagdsprinz’s primacy in matters of law and following the traditional philosophy of the Hunt, dragged the offending parties out into the street and killed them.

In Honalee, justice was public. The bloodier, the more graphic, the more painful it was- the better. Punishment was deterrent and physical proof of authority, all in one. The Honalenier didn’t think Earth should be any different.

The higher-up officers and the cavalry that weren’t occupied elsewhere stayed mounted in these instances, ready for pursuit, just in case.

“I don’t like how this looks,” Marcell told his fellow first-year officers quietly, eyeing the latest execution in progress.

“They deserve it,” Diana said. “They’re scum, and the human authority wasn’t touching them. _We_ can.”

“I know what you mean,” Nico said. “ _Padre_ and _Zia_ Spasia won’t mind- they’ll probably be happy that it’s happening like this- but all the same.”

“It is our place,” Siegrike reminded them all.

“If they don’t like it, they can complain to the government,” Nia said. “We wouldn’t be here without how they phrased their orders.”

Nico looked at the dead men in the street, and then at the Jäger emerging from the building.

“It looks like we’re mounting a secret ops mission against civilians,” he told her. Really, that wasn’t the first thing that had come to mind- but this was the safer one.

“This is a strange divide, _‘civilian’_ and _‘military’_ ,” Siegrike said. “You have done odd things here on Earth without the Hunt being present. It is much easier with _‘Jäger’_ and ‘ _non-Jäger’_ ; and then criminals. Criminals do not count.”

“ _Signor_ Agresta and _Signora_ Marconi would agree with you,” Diana replied. “Organized crime doesn’t count.”

Marcell had evidently had the same thought process as Nico, from his next statement, and wasn’t at all against speaking it.

“We look like secret police, Jagdsprinz.”

She frowned at him, annoyed.

“We’re _not._ ”

“We’re not operating under due process of law,” Marcell said stiffly. “There’s not a public trial. We don’t use warrants. We are police, judge, and executioner. We spied on them to get the information we needed and our process is not supervised by any outside agency. We’re a military organization behold to an authoritarian ruler dragging people out of their houses in the early hours of the morning and brutally murdering them to make a point and intimidate everyone else. It’s one thing in Martigny where we work _with_ the Gendarmerie and Sûreté; or in Honalee where we _are_ the lawful legal enforcement body. But here- we _are_ secret police. It doesn’t matter if we’re right or even if you’re infallible when it comes to judging crimes. We’re still secret police. And I don’t like it.”

“He’s right, Nia,” Nico told her.

“This was _your_ plan.”

“Mine and Diana’s,” he corrected her. “There were other ways to do it. We weren’t sure how well they would work- so to do what we were asked to, and to do our duty, we couldn’t do anything less.”

Nico paused. He didn’t feel very good admitting to this, but-

“I was trying not to think about it.”

“It’s the risk we run getting involved with Earth governments, Jagdsprinz,” Marcell said. “We should have stayed out of it.”

“We _can’t,_ ” Nia told them. “We can’t stay out of _everything._ The Erlkönig did that, and he could get away with it, because no one in Honalee _cared_ about Earth but Amphitrite Kataiis. But we couldn’t stay out of it if we _wanted_ to! I can do my best to keep us from causing major _problems_ with Earth governments, and that involves compromises that maybe we shouldn’t be making- but when we _can_ act we have a job and we’re going to _do_ it!”

“Then maybe,” Marcell said. “Once we’ve finished in Italy, we should go home and stay quiet for a couple years. Let this blow over before we try to do anything else.”

Diana glared at the corpses, jaw clenched, then reluctantly agreed with him. Nico was glad for that- Arik might have been in charge of External Relations, but Nia still listened to Diana when she had something to say about public relations matters. The Jagdsprinz had never forgotten the good her early analyses of the Hunt’s image had done for them.

Nia only stayed for the two days they were in Naples, the first day to supervise the extermination of the Camorra families in the city and help track down the ones who tried to hide. The second day she spent with Laganà and Muraro, informing them that _yes,_ the Hunt was within their rights to operate in South Italy and Sicily because they themselves had told their Nations to deal with the organized crime problem, and then Nations had every right to come to the Hunt for help; and that _no,_ they were not here to invade or otherwise engage in military action against the state itself. She ended the conversation with the unveiled threat that the Hunt’s investigations would take them to the government, eventually- so unless they wanted her _back_ in their offices, they should start working on purging themselves.

Nico found out that Laganà had told Lovino and Vespasiana to do it two weeks later, some ways south and west of Naples, when he found his father in the town they’d just finished battling for. As Diana had said months ago, the organized crime groups had taken a share off the top of the ordered LP guns; and today the Hunt had taken good advantage of Luisa’s suggestion of Kuberan powder bombs. They’d barely had to work to kill anyone- the melting guns had either killed them for the Jäger, or they were unconscious or in shock by the time they came by.

Nico sat in the back garden of the house he’d run across South Italy in and stared at his hands, clenching them and unclenching them.

“I was upset the last time I killed _camorristi,_ ” he told his father, sitting next to him. “I didn’t regret it, but I didn’t like it. I was worried in Rome when I thought I might I have done the same thing. But I’ve killed- I don’t know how many. A lot of people, doing this. I don’t- no. I do. They hurt people, and I’m _glad_ I’m killing them. I don’t think I’m _enjoying_ it, but I’m happy they’re dead.”

He looked at South Italy. Nico felt… _nasty,_ inside, but this was his _Padre_ and he didn’t want to talk to Diana about it.

“I’m not _supposed_ to be happy about it- right?”

“It might hit you later,” his father said after a couple moments. “A couple weeks from now, a couple months. Maybe a couple years. Sometimes it takes that long to distance yourself enough from it all, emotionally. But you can and do get used to killing, doing it. If you never feel bad-”

He didn’t sigh. South Italy just looked off into the middle distance at nothing, entertaining his own thoughts for some seconds.

“The Hunt would be a bad job for you if you got guilty over every life you took,” he told his son. “It would be better for you if you weren’t. If you’re still worried about it, after this whole damn war shit is over, go talk to your _Papà._ And ask one of the Honalenier who were Jäger under the Erlkönig about what the Hunt did to them.”

* * *

Eventually, after a good portion of July had passed but before Diana was ready to call the operations in the South Italy finished, Santiana Luxi came a second time to Rome to complain to the Jagdsprinz.

“You’re taking _sides,_ ” she accused Nia. “Helping _them._ ”

“We are not,” Nia told her. “If you’re so worried that what we do in the execution of our duty will mean that the south can get the upper hand on you, then maybe you should sue for peace.”

Diana, Nico, Marcell, Siegrike, and the Companies returned to Rome on August 9th. They had been coordinating with Lovino and Vespasiana to hunt down the people the Hunt’s intelligence hadn’t found, and Italy was the cleanest it had been in centuries. It had been cleaned in blood- but now, it was over.

Three days later Santiana Luxi accompanied her government to Verona and met with the government of the Second Republic of Venice. She spent the meeting doing her best not to glare across the table at His Excellency Feliciano Costa, _Repubblica di Venezia_ and in Honalee King, who had been duly and Constitutionally declared Head of State in April. The government still clinging to its claim to be the Italian Republic agreed to cede Trentino-Alto Adige to the Second Republic and enter an immediate ceasefire; not that there had been much fighting to begin with.

“How does it feel to have your Republic and your wife back?” Santiana hissed in his ear when Feliciano tried to be friendly for the sake of diplomacy and gave her a quick hug that was supposed to draw back into a handshake. “The Mediterranean you built your power on means nothing now. You killed off everyone else to get Italy and now you’ve lost it- was it _worth_ cheating me out my place in the Republic, to end up here?”

Feliciano plastered a tooth-bearing smile on his face and resisted the urge to stab her with something.

“Someday,” he told her quietly. “I will stand in the Piazza Castello in Turin and laugh because you are dead. But I will not have forgotten that Turin was to you as your Kingdom what Rome was to me as the Italian Republic; and so I will _sail_ into Cagliari, Santiana, and take your home apart stone by stone and piece by piece and throw it all into the sea, where the waters my wife rules will eat away it until there is nothing left of what you once built.”  

“Someday,” Santiana promised, voice low with rage and hatred. “You will realize just how much you have lost for so little gain, and I will be there with the rapier you used to kill Lombardy and Parma and Modena and Tuscany and Lucca and Genoa, and I will make you _beg_ me to put you out of your misery.”

“You missed your chance, Santiana,” Feliciano replied through his smile, digging his fingernails into her hand- silently daring her to make the first move, to admit to pain and weakness. “I realized what I lost _years_ ago. You should have tried to kill me when Heinrich moved to Venice to keep me from losing myself in my people to escape the grief tearing my soul apart.”

He felt his fingernails break skin.

“Every time your precious new government gives you an order you can’t refuse, think of me. Think of me in Venice, the head of my own state, with no one who can _make_ me obey.”

North Italy bled, and refused to back down from the Empire who had taken his heart back.

“And every time you see the Jäger about their duties in the new garrison you’ve been given,” she said through her own smile. “Think of the family you threw away out of greed and how the sound of your precious Ludwig’s voice and the look of his face have grown that little bit more indistinct since your last remembrance.”

“If it would not make the demon stronger I would wish one to feast on your soul, _Nord Italia._ You should be perfect amount of bitter for those cast out of Heaven.”

“And you full of sin, traitor.”

And the Second Republic of Venice did not hit North Italy, because that would have been bad diplomacy. Instead, once he got home, he spent the afternoon drawing her death in gruesome detail and then resolved to paint it later to keep in reserve as a gift. Someday, there would be the perfect opportune moment to send it.

He felt vindicated about the doing the painting when, two weeks later, North Italy suddenly pulled out of Abruzzo, crossed the Apennines in the north near Florence, where the Hunt had not established any direct control or consistent watch, and started marching on Rome.

The south rushed to meet them, and the former capital was finally staring down the siege it had managed to avoid for half a year.

* * *

“We can’t do it,” Kommandant Yurivitch said. Nia had called an emergency strategy meeting of everyone who could feasibly attend, including the Kommandants in with the Leutnants, given the situation. Soldati and the Vatican were sitting in, as usual, so they could keep updated on the situation. “We just can’t do it. We still don’t have the numbers, we don’t have the _training,_ and we don’t have the defenses or the supplies or anything even _remotely_ approaching the capacity to hold this city against a siege and keep the populace or ourselves from being destroyed. We can only throw weather and magic at them so long.”

“Are you going to leave the city?” Soldati asked, sounding worried.

“We have our honor and our duty,” Dariya said, deeply affronted. “If we die, then we have died in service of the Jagdsprinz and Ereshkigal.”

“Not-dying would be nice though,” Nico put in. “I’ve done enough dying already; I’d like to take the other option for once.”

“Speaking practically, Leontiy is right,” Diana told them. “We can’t do it. Maybe we could hold for a few days, but after that people start going hungry and we’ve probably run out of ammunition. We’ve spent a lot on it already, and we haven’t even really _been_ in a shooting war.”

“We weren’t at much of a war at all,” Nia said. “And I _wanted_ to keep it that way.”

“ _El-_ Jagdsprinz,” Arik told her. “You should have called the Hunt on the armies _months_ ago.”

Nia stared at him.

“Excuse you?”

“The Hunt,” he repeated. “On the armies. They’re all in violation of the Tripartite Treaty, and a lot fewer people would have died if we’d killed the generals and politicians outright.”

“We would have destroyed our reputation, Arik. We can’t treat Earth like Honalee.”

“Well _why not?_ ” he asked, aggravated. “You keep saying we can’t but then you pushed us into Rome and the war and got us all tangled up in this _political_ mess; and then you bypass the South Italian government completely and act on South Italy and Sicily’s request because of their status as Kings. The crime bust worked because you told the government to shut up and let the Hunt do its job. The war dragged on because you didn’t. So exercise your authority and _end_ this before Rome is slaughtered.”

The room was utterly silent for a moment.

“Son or no, Kommandant,” Dariya said, words tight with anger. “You do _not_ speak to your Prince like that.”

“ _I_ never spoke to _my_ father that way,” Ly Erg told him disapprovingly.

“I love you as my _Elti,_ ” Arik said, attention focused on the person in question. “And I give you my obedience as my King and devotion as the Jagdsprinz; which means that if I think you’re wrong, I have to say so. And I think you’re wrong, right now, if you think that letting the armies come to Rome in the name of accommodating Earth politics and human governments is the right thing to do. You can’t please everyone, _Elti;_ so you should choose to do the best to the ones _you_ are responsible for.”

“I’m _trying!_ ”

“Then call the Hunt on the armies,” Kommandant Yurivitch said, seconding Arik. “Your power would give us more protection, and that terror is not something that can be easily stood. Only go after the commanders if you _must_ to keep yourself happy- the lines will break in the face of a Hunt.”

There were nods around the table from the other Honalenier officers.

“Jagdsprinz,” Marcell said slowly. It was unclear if it was out of caution or thoughtfulness. “If we are going to operate on Earth, then I see two options. You can continue to try to work around the human governments, and the Hunt will be thought of as your secret police, used against anyone you don’t agree with. Or you can assert your authority as the First Among Kings, use the Hunt as the Hunt was meant, and we will be enforcers of law who stand on their principles and honor their word.”

“We’ve _had_ this conversation before!” Nia snapped. “I will _not_ act like-”

“That was twenty-seven years and a world ago, Jagdsprinz,” Marcell cut her off. “Things have changed.”

Nia took inhaled deeply through her nose and looked like she was ready to get up in someone’s face and yell at them until she ran out of air, but instead she spun around to put her back to her officers and stood there, shoulders tight under her uniform, seething. The Leutnants and Kommandanten sat in the uncomfortable silence, waiting.

After a while, she turned around again.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “Fine. Fine. Three decades and you still want more authority? Then I’ll _be_ authoritarian, I’ll _be_ autocratic- I’ll _be_ First Among Kings! You want Nations and governments at my feet when I act as Jagdsprinz- _fine!_ Is _that_ what you want?”

There was a best before the question came.

“Did you want us to vote on it?”

“ _Yes,_ Dariya, I want you to vote on it!” the Jagdsprinz snarled; then visibly forced herself to calm down. “This will be the _last_ time, I think.”

The vote for an autocratic, authoritarian Hunt went 16-1 in favor, Diana and Gretchen abstaining.

Nico, the only dissenting vote, looked across the table at Mosè and Arik and tried not to wonder about how his children would have voted, if they’d had high enough rank for it.

* * *

The Hunt came upon the armies before either of them had gotten under a hundred kilometers from Rome. Nia, with advice from Diana, Gretchen, and Leontiy about numbers and capabilities, and with the knowledge that the city of Venice had been promised a garrison of the Hunt and Rome, which Soldati had made very clear refused to go to either of the other powers, would likely require one too, put out to the volunteers, Carabinieri, _Polizia_ , and the various bits of military they’d managed to acquire that the Hunt was recruiting. They swelled their ranks just one day before Nia called the Hunt.

It was a devastating, destructive success. The field command of both armies was destroyed, neither of them prepared for the Hunt to come out and _meet_ them, in force, on the Hunt’s terms.

The success, however, what not so much in that it broke the armies and sent them scattering home, but that the Hunt was a beautiful distraction.

Arik had been sent to organize two teams- one to Florence, and one to Naples, to strike in tandem while the Hunt unleashed itself on the armies. When he un-assimilated Santiana Luxi- a necessary measure in such a kidnapping, to prevent the Nation from fleeing- into the room in the Vatican set aside for this purpose, North Italy found herself facing the Jagdsprinz.

Behind her, at the long table, Gasparo Abatescianni and Pierina Benivieni were already seated, with an empty chair between them, clearly meant for her. Joining them were Elio Laganà and Velia Muraro, more imprisoned by Lovino and Vespasiana than flanked; then Frederico Rocca, Feliciano, and Amphitrite; and after them Soldati, another empty chair, and Cristoforo.

“This ends,” the Jagdsprinz told her. “This whole war, right now. None of you are leaving this room until there is a mutually agreed-upon treaty.”

Santiana spent a moment more regarding the scene before resigning herself to it. She took her seat; and the Jagdsprinz hers between Soldati and the Vatican, and the talks about the Treaty of St. Peter’s began.

It took them days, but in the end they managed to agree on some things.

Rome would join neither the newly-formed South Italian Republic nor the Republic of Northern Italy. The official boundaries would encompass an arc of land anchored on the coast in north on Ladispoli and in the south on Anzio. It would sweep out to the national parks in the foothills of the Apennines, demarcating a neutral protectorate under the Hunt, pending statehood, which had open borders to the other three governments for purposes of getting their bureaucracy and files in order.

The border between North and South was a straight line from Vicovaro on the Roman border west to Pineto on the Adriatic coast. Pineto would get to choose whether to join the North or South.

The Lateran Treaty was renewed, in full, with the additions necessary to change _‘Italy’_ to _‘the Protectorate or State of Rome, the Second Republic of Venice, the South Italian Republic, and the Republic of Northern Italy’_. Likewise, in terms of political concessions from the other parties, Póli Thálassas was officially recognized by the other two Italies, Rome, the Vatican, and the Wild Hunt as being in personal union with the Second Republic of Venice, and treated as such. North and South also acknowledged the right of the Hunt to garrisons in Venetian and Roman territory, and the full force of their legal authority within those boundaries.

As a matter of course, it was included that the entrance of the treaty into force would officially end the hostilities between all parties involved, and that the South Italian Republic and the Republic of Northern Italy would be reinstated- while in the process of reparations to Rome in the name of establishing it socially and economically and partially paying for the upkeep of the Hunt there until the tax base properly expanded, and with the danger of slipping out again if the money was _not_ paid- as members of the Tripartite Treaty, and once again entitled to the rights and privileges therein.

On September 9th, 2080, the Treaty of St. Peter’s was officially signed, carrying the names of five heads of state: Elio Laganà for the Southern Italian Republic, Gaspare Abatescianni for the Republic of Northern Italy, Pope John XXIV for the Vatican City-State, Feliciano Costa for the Second Republic of Venice, and Sonnehilde Lavinia Beilschmidt as protector of Rome and Jagdsprinz, ensuring the continued good and honorable behavior of the other four parties.

The Italian Civil War was over.

* * *

Nia delivered the treaty personally to the UN, through Zell’s office in Martigny.

“I’m just so glad it’s _over,_ ” she confessed to her older sister, voice muffled because of the way her face was pressed into Zell’s shoulder. Her sister had taken the treaty from her, given it a perfunctory glance, then set it down and held her arms open in a wordless invitation. “I want to put down the train tracks from Nysa to Paititi, and build the train stations, and get the post running, and lay landlines along the way to connect the Jagdshall to Ordon Khot so we can maybe _talk_ to each other in real time. No more of this war. Just building.”

“Are you all right?” Zell asked. “I don’t- I don’t know exactly what you did, Nia, and I know there wasn’t a lot of fighting in Rome- but I heard from _Zio_ Vino that Nico killed a lot of people, and he wasn’t comfortable with it. Are _you_ all right?”

Nia continued leaning on her, silent, for a little while. Zell just held her and waited while her younger sister worked up to whatever she was going to say.

“I killed people,” Nia admitted. “And I don’t particularly care that I did. It’s like how I feel about killing the demon, except I’m still- pleasantly vindictive, about that. But-”

She pulled back so she could see Zell’s face.

“When the armies were marching on Rome,” she said. “My officers insisted that I take more power. That I _commit_ to acting like a King, like I deserve authority wherever I go and acknowledgement from any government, Honalenier or human. And- and I said I _would,_ because they were _right,_ I _needed_ to take that power to end the war and I need to keep it so I can enforce what I’m bound to enforce on Earth, but when, when I decided to-”

Zell squeezed Nia’s hands, gently, urging her to continue.

“I didn’t think about managing my power better or what I should do with it or responsibility or anything; the only thing I could keep a hold of mentally was thinking that _‘Vati would be so disappointed in me’_. You _know_ what he thought of authoritarianism and autocracy- but that’s _me_ now.”

Nia looked away, starting to tear up.

“And Arik- Arik said that the war happened _because_ I didn’t use my authority, and so people _died_ who didn’t need to; but the reason I _haven’t_ been using my authority is because I know _Vati_ wouldn’t think well of it and I _know_ that’s a stupid way to run a government and I _know_ that he’d be horrified to know that because I was thinking about him people died but I can’t _not-_ ”

“You need to let go, Nia,” Zell said sadly. “Heinrich and I have. But you and _Onkel_ and _Babbo_ haven’t. Won’t. It’s why you’re all still arguing. It’s not _bad_ to think about him- but going on like this is just going to cause you more problems later. You need to let go. You _have_ to let go.”

“But I _miss_ him.”

“You’re right to. And you don’t have to stop, to let go.”

“But I’m _Jagdsprinz,_ Zell,” Nia told her. “My _integrity,_ my _honor,_ my _word-_ it’s what the Hunt runs on. If I- that’s _why_ I’m Jagdsprinz- if I _lose_ that- if that takes _damage,_ then-”

Zell let her slide back into the hug, settled in to wait out the tears, and tried to think of something that could help.   

* * *

Amphitrite found Feliciano out in the salt marshes, lying on a firm bit of ground and looking up at the night sky. There were only a couple stars visible, because of the light pollution, but he was intently focused on it all the same.

She sat down next to him and asked: “What are you thinking about?”

“Santiana,” he said, and she could hear the frown.

“You don’t have to pay any attention to her,” Amphitrite told him. “She may be a King, but she detests you and she can’t do anything about it. She deserves no thought from you.”

“It’s about what she said, Amphitrite, in Verona.”

“If she comes for you I will drag her before the Jagdsprinz myself-”

“No, no,” Feliciano said. “Not the threats. The things about having Venice back. About the sea. She was right- I have my heart back, I have my _Terrafirma_ , I’m- we’re seeing each other, again. But it’s not the Middle Ages or the Renaissance any longer. My position is strategically useless. I’m not a major trade port. The Arsenal was the best shipyard of its day and the Italian Republic only gave me _repair_ jobs to replace it with. Goods travel differently, now; and the Mediterranean just isn’t important.”

“You are important,” Amphitrite said.

“Not right now,” Venice sighed. “Not right now. But I’m my own country again and I want to be _great_ again. I want _something._ ”

He raised one hand and pointed, up into the sky.

“Navin Technologies is terraforming Mars right now,” he said. “Only a tiny little bit of it, to prove they can, and all they’ve got planned is to stick a research station up there. But we have entire habitable _planets_ from the Tripartite Treaty, from the Pict- and someday someone is going to take that seriously, like I think people are taking Honalee and the Hunt seriously, now. But if _we_ do it, if _we’re_ the ones to get there first- if we learn the best ways to shuttle people and goods, if we know how to set up colonies, if we’re _there_ when everyone else finally decides to leave; there and ready to _trade-_ ”

Venice clenched his raised hand, as if he could tangle the night sky around his fingers and pocket it, own it.

“If I can’t have the sea, Amphitrite, I want the _stars_.”


	4. Heinrich and Mariangela

“Do we even have class?” Mariangela Ardovini finally had to ask, shuffling her papers nervously.

There were five of them- Mariangela and Sabina Tamboia, the contralto, were the most senior of the group, having been taking lessons at the same time on the same days for ten years. Elena Salvaggi, the soprano, and Aleš Sarka, the bass, had been around for almost four; and Basim El-Amin, the baritone, was the newest singer in attendance time. He’d only switched to coming to their practice sessions a few weeks ago.

 “We even had class the day the Civil War started,” Elena said. “I don’t see why we wouldn’t have it _today._ There’s nothing even a _little_ exciting going on.”

“He’d call, at least, right?” Aleš asked nervously. “I mean, he’s _old;_ what if he fell into a canal or something?”

“The Thálassians would fish him out if he fell into a canal,” Elena assured him. “They did it for _my_ brother; they’d do the same for _Signor_ Costa.”

“We could practice until then,” Basim suggested doubtfully. “We do know what we’re supposed to be working on.”

“You can if you want,” Elena said. “But I _know_ I won’t do it right if _Signor_ Costa isn’t here to coach me through it. Unless _you_ want to do it, Mariangela?”

Mariangela had sung soprano, once, before an infection had ruined her voice for opera. Now she was re-learning the genre from the standpoint of a composer and librettist. She had been good at composing music, before, and with practice she had gotten better. It wouldn’t be a disaster or even a setback if they _didn’t_ have class- a bit of a misnomer, really, since they were semi-professionals now. Everyone but Mariangela had had a part in _something._ They just kept calling the practice sessions _‘class’_ because that’s what she and Sabina, and Aleš and Elena, had been used to, with _Signor_ Costa. They’d gotten used to weekly sessions at La Fenice with their teacher, and were reluctant to leave him, even if he was really _supervising_ rather than _teaching_ for everyone but Mariangela.

For her, actually, it would probably be a good idea to leave. _Signor_ Costa was doing his best to guide her through the other side of opera; but he’d always been a singer, never a writer.

“You’ve been doing _fine,_ Elena,” Mariangela told her. “Really. It’s just you can’t see it from doing it.”

“Why don’t you start on vocal warm-ups first?” Sabina suggested. This was uncomplicated enough for Elena and Aleš and Basim to agree to it, and soon the room was filled with the sound of exercises.

“Is that what you’re working on for _Signor_ Costa?” Sabina asked Mariangela. “Or is that your gift?”

“Its _notes_ for the gift,” she sighed, staring down at the papers. “But it’s not even _really_ notes, because I _still_ have no idea what I’m going to write for him. But I have to do _something._ He deserves it. It needs to be _special_.”

Sabina pulled a face.

“I hope you’re not thinking about making an opera out of his life or something,” she said. “That would be weird.”

“I don’t know enough about his life to do that,” Mariangela told her. “We know he grew up in Germany, so lately I’ve been thinking maybe something like Wagner.”

“Wagner’s too long. It’s hard to get people to sit through.”

“It wouldn’t be _that_ long,” Mariangela said. “I don’t think I could come up with enough for that. But something thematically similar.”

“Oh, so _‘doom doom doom mystical doom’_?” Sabina asked. “That’s terrible, no one needs that in their life. Why not write something happy- we don’t have enough happy operas.”

Mariangela smiled.

“If we left opera-writing up to you,” she said. “Everyone would have a happy ending and there wouldn’t be enough contraltos to fill all the parts.”

“Well contraltos _don’t_ have enough parts,” Sabina complained. “If I don’t want to play a man or some horrible nasty woman I barely have any options. And _then_ there’s parts for contraltos that can _also_ be done by mezzo-sopranos, and what do people do? They cast fucking _mezzo-sopranos!_ _I_ want a _nice_ role, for once.”

“When I said _‘thematically similar’_ ,” Mariangela continued. “I meant the mythic bent. But I can’t find a Germanic myth I like enough to adapt, and the Greco-Roman ones are so overused.”

“You’ll figure something out eventually,” Sabina promised. “What if I invite the others along for snacks, after, and we can brainstorm it?”

“If they want to, sure.”

* * *

_Signor_ Costa _had_ eventually shown up, some twenty minutes late, apologetic and citing an unspecified family situation.

“It’s not your kids, is it?” Sabina had asked. Mariangela had no idea what could have _possibly_ hurt his children- two of them were in the Hunt, after all, she and Sabina and Elena and Aleš had met them very briefly during the Civil War. But the other one, she remembered from what little _Signor_ Costa had told them about his family, had a bad case of chronic re-marriage and a tendency to be unhealthily and indiscriminately promiscuous. Maybe he’d finally pissed someone off enough to get in trouble, or broken the iron-clad rule against cheating or adultery _Signor_ Costa was insistent about even among his students and coworkers.  

“No,” _Signor_ Costa had told them, and didn’t elaborate.

The irregularity of this had been a good catalyst for Sabina to convince the others to come along for food and talk after class.

“I hope it’s not _Signora_ or Rabbi Pace,” Elena said worriedly. “They’re really nice old people. I remember when we sang for them.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Sabina said. “When _Signor_ Pace died, he took it really hard. Maybe his wife got hurt.”

“Maybe it’s _his_ parents,” Basim suggested. “Or siblings? Does he have any?”

“We don’t think so,” Mariangela told him. “ _Signor_ Costa said his father was Venetian, but he grew up in Berlin and he only moved here to marry his wife after Germany collapsed. I know because he told me and Sabina, a long time ago, that his father died because of the Fire. We think the rest of his family probably did, too, because he never talks about them.”  

“Oh,” Aleš said, a little awkwardly. “You never told _us_ that.”

“We thought that he’d mention it himself,” Sabina said. “But that’s not _really_ why we’re here. Mariangela needs help.”

They all looked at her.

“I, uh,” Mariangela tried to begin, faltering as she searched for words. This was personal. “Well. You know how I used to sing and then- yeah. _Signor_ Costa still came to see me, and check on me, when I was sick and after I found out I couldn’t sing properly any longer and when I just- when I wanted to give up on everything. He said I shouldn’t. He said I could still do opera, that I already wrote music and he’d teach me about how to do it for opera even though _he_ didn’t really know. He studied, he read books, he talked to people- I know he did, I _saw-_ and he did it so I’d get better. He didn’t have to. So I want to give him a present.”

“I’m not sure how much money we could put together-” Aleš started to say doubtfully.

“Not that sort of present,” Mariangela said. “I want to write him an opera. Something just for him- a tenor lead role that’s _his,_ was written for him, that everybody will know was for him even if other people put it on. But I don’t have any _ideas._ ”

Elena pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. She didn’t manage to keep her teasing unsaid, though.

“He’s married, Mariangela, are you _sure_ you want to make your crush so-”

“It is _not_ a crush, Elena,” the other woman interrupted. “You can make comments about me protesting too much all you want- if I hadn’t grown up with a father, I’d want to call _him_ that. He deserves something nice, and I want to make it German. Mythic if I can.”

Elena pulled a face.

“Ugh. _Wagner._ ”

“I like Wagner,” Basim ventured, testing out his opinions in this group he wasn’t entirely part of yet.

“Opera already has the Ring cycle,” Sabina opened the discussion with. “So what else can we think of that would be suitably operatic? I would say to do the Lorelei, but that’s got a sad ending.”

“If you didn’t want sad endings you should have done musical theater,” Elena told her. “There was some story where a giant stole a goddess’ necklace, wasn’t there? And somebody got it back. Or the one where Thor put on a dress and killed a bunch of giants. That one is supposed to be pretty funny, right?”

“Just don’t do the horse one,” Aleš begged.

“There’s the Mead of Poetry,” Basim said. “That’s about the origins of skaldic inspiration. Or you could do the story of Odin and his quest for wisdom where he hung on Yggdrasil for nine days and nights to get the powers of prophecy and learn the runes. That would be suitably dramatic.”

The table looked at him.

“I like mythology and folklore,” he said defensively. “If you don’t want to do those, then you could go to history. Barbarossa, maybe, or one of the later emperors. You could do the founding of the German state.”

“He’s Jewish,” Elena reminded him. “I don’t know if we want to go there.”

“Well, he’s German too. I don’t see how a little bit of nationalism would hurt, so long as you do it right. If you’re worried, you could ask him what he thinks about the GfL.”

 “If you push the time period up,” Sabina said to Mariangela. “You could do the Reunification, when the Wall came down. That’s about Berlin, and it would be happy.”

“That could be good,” Mariangela said thoughtfully. “But what about the symbolism?”

“You don’t _have_ to put symbolism in.”

“But it’s _fun._ ”

Aleš smacked his hand on the table, his indication that he’d gotten an idea.

“You should do the _Hunt,_ ” he said. “ _That’s_ German, it’s mythic, it’s recent history, and I’m sure you could work symbolism in pretty easily. It’s _magic._ ”

“The Hunt,” Mariangela repeated to herself, considering it.

“His kids are in it,” Sabina reminded her. “That’s pretty personal. I bet he’d like it.”

“ _Signor_ Costa’s children are in the _Hunt?_ ” Basim asked.

“I don’t know a lot about it,” Mariangela said. “Or what story I’ll tell. But I’m going to do it. Thanks.”

“Don’t tell _Signor_ Costa,” Sabina told the others. “It’s going to be a surprise.”

* * *

Politically, it was a _little_ awkward- no, that was definitely an understatement, Heinrich knew. _Presidente del Consiglio_ Rocca had tried to make his suggestion to the Second Republic that, as both the Nation and Head of State, it looked _‘less than ideal’_ for him to continue living in his old apartments in the Doge’s Palace, especially since it _was_ a museum, as gently as possible. People couldn’t be going through it at all hours of the day or night coming to get him for political business; but he didn’t really want to kick his Nation out of his home.

Heinrich had been there. The memory of Venice looking Frederico Rocca dead in the eye and saying: “I _know_ it looks like a monarchy, that’s why I’ve already arranged to buy Pisani Moretta and make some of the rooms into apartments and offices!”

Rocca had looked like he was about to faint.

“You did _what?_ ”

“I’m buying Palazzo Pisani Moretta,” the Second Republic had said. “People are already used to the idea of _Il Ballo del Doge_ happening there during Carnivale even if it hasn’t _actually_ happened for quite a few years now, so it’s a good starting point for thinking about grand state occasions; and it’s already got _beautiful_ interiors and it’s fully renovated and it’s one of the few historical places in the city that’s near the government offices that _isn’t_ a museum and Heinrich lives nearby too. And you don’t have to worry about paying for anything, because I have money and Amphitrite has money and _we’re_ handling it.”

This was, perhaps, not _exactly_ within the usual state of affairs, but it wasn’t like the government had that kind of money right now or any other real alternatives; and so Palazzo Pisani Moretta became the personal property of Feliciano Costa, and, through him, property of the Second Republic of Venice. 

   It was still strange to Heinrich that Arianna Di Corte now worked as his remaining parent’s personal secretary- she was forty years younger than him, and he’d grown up knowing her grandfather, Bernardo, working as the Nation’s secretary.

Bernardo Di Corte had been one of the first people Heinrich knew who had died of natural causes. He didn’t like thinking about it, because then he felt _old,_ in his head. Sixty-seven wasn’t a terrible age, and he was managing fine so far; but _thinking_ about it-

He already knew very well that it was killing Venice a little inside to watch him get older. Nia hadn’t said it was doing the same to her, but _she_ Heinrich didn’t have to ask. He knew it was.  

Arianna knew him on sight, and had been training the rest of the staff to do the same. So Heinrich got up to the offices without trouble, and Arianna waved him in, saying: “The _Razanás_ is free.”

That was another thing that marked his age- Heinrich wouldn’t have thought to use the Trade Creole _Razanás-_ King, now also Nation- in place of the less-wieldy and more academic-sounding _‘Head of State’_ for Venice, who technically didn’t _have_ a title. The word had been used by the Thálassians in Venice for years now, of course, that or the Thálassian _Vassanális_ ; and in the last months Heinrich had been hearing _rezzana_ , _rezzano, rezzanalo_ as the city tried to make up its collective mind how the word would loan into Italian, now that they had a need for it.

The first time he’d heard the word, he’d had to ask his students what it meant- he’d thought it was some new slang, maybe loaned out of one of the Slavic languages, and been surprised when he learned it wasn’t. The next time he saw Nia, he’d have to ask her if _Seelenvolk_ had been taken into the Trade Creole in Martinach when they’d invented _Seelenkind_. 

Heinrich noted the golden, tasseled cord looped around the door handle on his way in and asked: “ _Mamma_?” when he closed the door behind him.

His mother didn’t look up from where she was sitting on the office couch, staring at two canvases leaning against the wall with her hands peaked in front of her mouth.

“‘Cino, come look at these,” she said. The Second Republic seemed oddly- amused.

Heinrich walked over, obediently, and she pointed at the canvas on the left.

“That one’s called _Venus Felix’s First Sight of Man,_ ” she told her son. “And the other one is _Jupiter Feretrius Endowing Justitita_.”

 _Venus Felix_ was an interesting variation on the usual take of the goddess being born from the sea. She was walking up to the beach from the sea, dress floating on the waves and the hazy horizon line mostly hidden by the background growth of beach grasses. The goddess was rather splendidly done up, Heinrich noted, with a crown of roses and hyacinths hiding a mural crown, and chains of the same flowers draped in a hanging wreath encircling her loosely-bound, flowing hair. True to the painting’s title, she was transfixed by the sight of a young man on the beach, who had dozed off reading a book against an outcropping of rock. She had her arms out, reaching, a look of longing on her face.

 _Jupiter Feretrius_ was a little different. Jupiter was dressed as a Roman general, which wasn’t _that_ strange, he supposed. Jupiter Feretrius was the god the arms of a defeated general or king were dedicated to. He was handing a sword over to Justitia, who was already holding his helmet, for some reason. Justitia was Lady Justice- she was supposed to have a sword and _scales,_ not a helmet, but the play on the role of law and justice with Jupiter Feretrius’ ritual dedications and his function as the god invoked in contracts was too good to pass up, artistically speaking.

There was something wrong in the background of this second painting, and it took Heinrich a moment to realize what. There was a Roman legion standard stuck in the ground there, listing a little to the side. The wooden pole and crossbar were correct, but the eagle on top was clearly supposed to be a _live_ one, with black plumage, rather than the gilded statue of one that was the more standard representation.

Now that he’d noticed that, he started seeing other oddities in the paintings. First off, they were clearly of modern make, which made the classical subject matter rather novel, but there was also-

“Isn’t Venus usually blonde?” Heinrich asked, taking a second look at her black hair. “I know I’ve never seen _Jupiter_ blonde, and he’s supposed to have a beard, right? And these scenes _definitely_ didn’t happen anywhere in classical mythology. I would have remembered-”

“‘Cino,” Feliciano said, shaking her head, voice theatrically disappointed. “ _‘Cino._ I _know_ you did some studies on Renaissance art.”

But this was not Renaissance art. It was, perhaps, Renaissance art _subjects,_ but the art itself-

“That was the last time Amphitrite was really around,” she continued. “So I guess I’m not _surprised_ she decided to commission something like this-”

Heinrich took a third look at the paintings, with the knowledge that Amphitrite had commissioned them, and suddenly things were _blindingly_ obvious.

“It’s a _joke,_ ” he said. “It’s one big, allegorical, expensive, _joke._ ”

“Well I’m not sure I’d call it a _joke-_ ”

Venus rising from the sea, yearning for a young man on shore, with her black hair and, yes that was a gold ring on her finger- Amphitrite.  The object of her enchantment asleep, on the beach, with a book that had a very finely, faintly detailed Lion of St. Mark on the cover- his mother. Squinting at the background, he could make out the main Venetian island on the hazy horizon, the tower and the roof of the Basilica marking the Piazza.

Sleeping- that would be Venice before the Second Republic, part of Italy, the Nation tied to other concerns and away from Polí Thálassas. The implied immediate future of the scene the painting showed, her waking him up- their reunion, and the Second Republic.

Heinrich looked at _Jupiter Feretrius Endowing Justitia_ again.

“If Amphitrite commissioned these,” he said. “Why did she do one of _Vati_ and Nia?”

“I-” his mother started to say, then stopped and sighed.

“I don’t know, ‘Cino,” she admitted. “It’s not for _me,_ anyway- I’m supposed to send it along to Nia. Maybe she’s trying to be nice- she keeps trying, with Nia, but I don’t know how well it’s getting across.”

That made sense to him. Amphitrite had met him again, a number of times, since he lived in Venice now and she made a point to visit her spouse regularly. The Empress of Polí Thálassas and Queen of Alll Waters hadn’t quite gotten a handle on how to make Germany’s children feel welcomed, yet.

That was okay. They weren’t sure how much they wanted to have with her, anyway.

“She just wants Nia to like her,” Venice continued. “For us to be family.”

“Maybe don’t send _that_ right now,” Heinrich cautioned, grateful for an opening to slip into the reason he’d come here in the first place. “I’ve been talking to Zell. Since the end of the Civil War, she’s been- Nia won’t let go of _Vati._ ”

“I knew that.”

“But it’s getting in the way of her doing her job.”

“I knew that too,” their mother said, going quietly sad. Other people might not have noticed, but Heinrich had had months of learning to read her mood, from when he’d taken care of her in her grief. It had not been a good time, and over thirty years later, he still remembered all the tells.

“Not just with you and _Onkel_ Gilbert and the VRG, _Mamma_ ,” Heinrich told her. “Zell-”

He stopped to give himself time to think about how to put it.

“Nia’s gotten herself all tangled up in doing what she thinks _Vati_ would think was right. You know how he taught us about responsibility and duty and accountability and power, and now she’s _Jagdsprinz-_ ”

“Naples?” Venice asked. “That’s it, isn’t it; since you said it’s been _‘since the war’_. I saw the pictures and the videos and all the reports.”

Heinrich sat down on the couch next to her.

“ _Would Vati_ disapprove?” he asked. “I mean- it looked really bad. And it was outside of _our_ law. But by _her_ law, it was perfectly fine. Bloody, and violent; but justified.”

Feliciano looked off into the middle distance.

“I don’t know if he’d have been able to separate it like that,” she said quietly. “And even if he could- the Nazis were legal, too. But that didn’t make it _right._ I was- I got worried about her, when I saw what was going on in Naples. I couldn’t go talk to her, because she wouldn’t have heard me and it would have gone all yelling and blaming and-”

She sniffed.

“I talked to Lovino and Gilbert instead. Lovino like what was happening, but Gilbert was worried too, and _he_ said we should talk to Liesl- she and Nia are pretty good friends now, did you know? I didn’t. I knew Princess Anja was really angling for better relations and I guess I _should_ have known when Marlies married Ulrik, but- I wish I’d known. I wish we still talked. Even if she won’t forgive me, can’t we _talk?_ ”

“I think you two should,” Heinrich said. “I think that if nobody would yell, it would be really good for everybody. Ideally, it would be you and Nia and _Onkel_ Gilbert; but it would probably be better for it be Nia and then both of you in turn. Probably you and Nia first, because- well. _Mamma_?”

“Yes, ‘Cino?”

“You can’t let Nia walk all over you.”

“I don’t-”

“You do,” Heinrich cut her off. “ _Onkel_ Gilbert used to tell _Vati_ all the time not to turn into a doormat around Israel, and I know from the stories you told us that you told him the same thing about the rest of Europe once the War was over. So now I’m telling _you_ that you were wrong, what you did was wrong, and Nia’s not wrong when she says it but that doesn’t mean she’s still right to be so angry about it that she’s nasty and vicious and shoves everything you’ve ever done wrong back in your face whenever you see each other socially out of spite. _That’s_ not right. That’s hurtful and it’s unnecessary and if you or _Vati_ had ever done something like that to her, the state would have taken us from you on grounds of emotional abuse. So _she_ shouldn’t be getting away with it, and I’ve kept it from happening by suggesting that she stop coming for winter holidays and we went for summer, and not ever inviting her here- but it’s been enough. She needs to make up with you. And you need to stand up for yourself and let her know what she’s doing is _wrong._ ”

“Nia is never going to forgive me,” Venice said, staring at her hands. “I know you’re trying, Heinrich, but it will never happen. Ludwig is gone.”

“I’m not going to let that stop me,” Heinrich told her firmly. “If I have to, I’ll make sure she’s at my deathbed and ask her for one last thing _right_ before I die, and I’ll make it a promise to me that she acts decently to you and _Onkel_ Gilbert. Nico’s already told me that he knows she made some sort of last wish promise to Switzerland, and she’s keeping it, even though he doesn’t know _what_ it is. If she’s keeping that, she’ll keep a deathbed promise to _me._ ”

_“Heinrich-”_

“I’ll get Zell in on it too,” he said. “She’d agree. Nia would listen to her just as much; and if it’s both of us together she’ll _have_ to do something. We haven’t managed it yet, but we will eventually.”

Feliciano was sniffling again.

“Come here, ‘Cino,” she said, and Heinrich accepted her embrace, hugging her back tightly.

“Thank you,” she said tearily. “For not giving up. You’re my son, _I’m_ supposed to- you don’t have to-”  

“You’re my _Mamma,_ ” he interrupted her gently. “And you love me; so yes, I _do_ have to, just as much as I had to move in with you after _Vati_ died. I _will_ get Nia to talk to you again. I promise- I’ll figure something out.”

* * *

Mariangela was frustrated to find that there was _very_ little information on the Wild Hunt available, even online.

Oh, there was plenty about _recently._ The Civil War had only ended a few months ago, after all, so everyone was still talking about it.

But she didn’t want recently. She wanted the old stories, the sort of things that would be told as legends beginning with _‘centuries ago…’_

 The general search _‘Wild Hunt legend’_ didn’t turn up anything much of use besides the old _human_ stories, which she doubted were true. There weren’t very many of them in the first place, it seemed- the Wild Hunt hadn’t been very popular for mythology or literature or even fantasy books, which had a tendency to get rather eclectic.

Changing the search to _‘Wild Hunt information’_ proved that the Hunt had a website. It was clearly professionally-done but very utilitarian- there was a short description of what the Hunt’s job was, and then links to pages and pages of information about traveling to Honalee, doing business with Honalee, the laws of Honalee, and what was clearly a new section all about the Tripartite Treaty, because there was a subsection titled _‘Precedent’_ that went back over what the Hunt had done in the Civil War.

Mariangela also found fact sheets with short descriptions of each Kingdom, along with a strangely-fanciful map of Honalee. There weren’t any clearly-marked borders, for one, or a scale bar to give a sense of how far away anything was. Instead, they provided a table of _‘Approximate Travel Times’_ , which gave measurements in minutes and hours and days from one place to another.

She backtracked to the main page and located the _‘About’_ tab. It had basically the same information as the main page, just a little elaborated and a whole new set of informative links about how the Hunt was structured and what the different ranks and Regiments and Divisions meant and then, _finally,_ something helpful- a page titled _‘History’_.   

“ _‘The Wild Hunt was created by Ereshkigal, Queen of Irkalla, at the request of Gwyn ap Llud following the murders of his father, uncles, and sister to provide a way to reliably change and enforce contracts and obligations in Honalee,’_ ” it read. “ _‘The creation of the Hunt led immediately to the codifying of the Jagdsprinz’s Pact, which serves as the core of law for all of Honalee. Gwyn ap Llud became Jagdsprinz Erlkönig, and his wife Nicnevin became Queen of the Tylwyth Teg and the Silent Hills. The major events of the Erlkönig’s tenure were the First Congress of Kings, the destruction of Kêr-Is, and the destruction of the Hunt by the demon Mephistopheles.’_ ”

Mariangela stared at the page a moment, then got up to find her copy of Gounod’s _Faust_ before continuing.

“ _‘The Hunt remained disbanded from sometime between approximately 1500 and 1648 until 9 January 2053, when Sonnehilde Lavinia Beilschmidt, formerly of Berlin, restored the Hunt and killed Mephistopheles, bringing Honalee and Earth into large-scale contact. Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor’s major accomplishments so far have been restoring the Hunt, the enforcement of the Tripartite Treaty during the Italian Civil War, and the ongoing establishment of Honalee’s official post and telecommunications system.’_ ”

That was not a lot of detail for lots of interesting tidbits, and Mariangela complained about it to Sabina during the next practice session at La Fenice.

“Go ask a Thálassian if you want to know about how the Hunt was formed,” she told her friend irritably. One of the things La Fenice was putting on this season was the operetta _Countess Maritza,_ and Sabina, a known quantity at La Fenice, had the part of Princess Božena. _Signor_ Costa was playing Baron Zsupán, and then Erik in _The Flying Dutchman,_ and then Lonhengrin in _Lonhengrin_ before finishing the season as Walter von Stolzing in _The Master Singer of Nürnburg_. The last two were really more to his style- he had the voice for Wagner, and he was _good_ at signing; and Sabina knew it. If he hadn’t left the circuit to get married and raise his children, or if he auditioned regularly anywhere but La Fenice now that he had recent performances on his resume again, he could have gotten to be a name in the opera world.

Sabina was understandably nervous, even though she wouldn’t be singing opposite him, so Mariangela left her alone and spent some weeks trying to puzzle out if she wanted to do the foundation of the Hunt, which meant talking to strangers, or extrapolate around what little information she had to do something heroic about the Hunt’s return.  

The one thing she knew, whichever one she decided on, was that there would be a song between Mephistopheles and the Jagdsprinz Erlkönig. That was easy enough to do, since Mephistopheles was already a bass-baritone in Gounod’s _Faust,_ so she’d just have to decide what voice the Erlkönig would have and work from there.

Once Mariangela had it the way she thought she wanted it, she took it to Aleš and Basim.

 _“Please,”_ she begged. “Aleš, you did Daland so well, and I _know_ you’ve done songs from _Faust_ for the same role.”

“I’ve never done it on _stage,_ though,” he said.

“I’m not asking you to do it on stage,” Mariangela wheedled. “I just want you to sing it a couple times so I know it sounds like it does in my head.”

“I’ll do it even if he doesn’t,” Basim told her. “This looks fun, and I have some time.”

Aleš took it, grumbling a little, and once _Così fan tutti_ was over with, he and Basim sang it for her in the practice room after _Signor_ Costa had left for the day.

* * *

Elena accosted her the next week.

“ _I_ want to help!” she said. “What are your soprano parts, I’ll sing them! Even if it’s not _quite_ right because I’ll be practicing on off-hours if you’re writing parts for Aleš and Basim-”

“I’m not writing parts for anybody but _Signor_ Costa,” Mariangela protested. “And I’m going to try to work in a nice contralto, because Sabina is going to insist, but the only parts I _know_ I’m having are Mephistopheles and the Erlkönig. I don’t even know if there’ll _be_ a soprano part!”

Elena looked aghast.

“You _can’t_ have an opera without a soprano part!”

“What says I can’t?” Mariangela asked. “It’s my opera, I can write it how I want. But I’ll tell you if I need help, okay?”

Elena huffed and went off, and Mariangela spent the rest of the day trying to decide which direction to take the opera in.

Inspiration struck much too late at night, as it always does.

“It’s going to be _beautiful,_ ” she told Sabina over the phone in the midst of an artistic fervor some hours later, in the early morning.

“Maria-” her friend started to say, sounding severely alarmed.

Mariangela hung up and continued writing, frantically, before the ideas got away from her.  

“What the hell have you bee- go to _sleep!_ ” was the first thing she heard from Sabina, five days later, when she showed up to the practice session.

“I took a shower and changed my clothes before I came here,” Mariangela told her defensively. “That’s good enough.”

“It’s really not,” Aleš said. “Sleeping is good for you. And eating. That sort of thing. You should probably do it.”

“We should take her home,” Basim agreed.

“No, no,” Mariangela said. “I finished it, I finished the libretto and the songs and you’re all going to _hate_ me-”

She fumbled around in her bag to get the copies she’d printed out and shoved them at her friends.

_“Read it.”_

Sabina took her firmly by the arm and plucked one of the copies out of her hands.

“We will,” she said. “We’ll read it; and we’ll practice some of the songs so you can hear them later and decide what you want to edit- but you’re going to go home and _sleep_ first, and eat some real food.”

Mariangela just managed to hear Elena say: “Wait, this is in German _and_ Italian, what was she thi-” before Sabina had her out of the room and into the hallway.

She had vague memories of leaving La Fenice when she woke up the next day in her bed, and none at all of actually getting home; but Sabina was sitting in the chair by the window, the stapled-together packet of the libretto open to the end in her lap, the sheet music for the ending duet in her hands.

“You’re right,” Sabina told her, staring at the pièce de résistance of role Mariangela had written for a contralto voice. “I _do_ hate you.”

* * *

Heinrich had known for a while that his technically-former students were up to something, particularly Mariangela and Sabina. By the end of April, when he’d found them more times than he’d bothered to count there for practice sessions up to two hours early, or staying past the time he left, he was just patiently waiting for them to reveal what it was.

He walked into the practice room on the last Tuesday of April to find all five of them waiting for him, Mariangela clutching a libretto with sheet music stuffed into it and looking incredibly nervous.

Heinrich stopped a couple of steps into the room and raised his eyebrows, waiting for someone to explain.

“I- um-” Mariangela tried to say through her nervousness. “I- You-”

She took a deep breath and tried again.

“You’ve been really good to me _Signor_ Costa and the rest of us too but me specifically so I know I’ve already said thank you  but I wanted to do something really nice for you in return so I wrote you an opera and-”

She almost fumbled her papers trying to reorganize them so she could hand them to him, so Heinrich walked to her, instead, putting on a kind smile.

“Thank you, Mariangela-”

She somewhat-frantically indicated a chair set up off to the side.

“Sabina and Elena and Aleš and Basim have been learning the songs and singing them back to me so I could edit them so I’d really really like it if you’d sit down and look at the libretto and then they’ve each got a duet they can do and if you could go through the whole thing and listen they can sing it when you get to their parts and then tell me what you think?”

Heinrich looked at the much younger singers, and then back at Mariangela.

“Of course,” he said, taking his seat. “I’d be glad to.”

Only then did he look down at the libretto. The title on the front read: ‘ _Il diavolo di Martigny/Der Teufel von Martinach’_.

He had to force himself not to let his eyebrows rise again, and to open the book, mentally bracing himself.

There were only seven parts- two tenors, two baritones, a soprano, a bass, and a contralto- and he had to do a double-take at the lead roles. They were for the contralto and one of the tenors, with notes indicating that the contralto part could be taken by a mezzo-soprano and that the tenor would ideally be a heldentenor able to do the higher notes the so-called Wagnerian roles rarely called for- _his_ voice.

Mariangela really _had_ written it for him.

And _who_ the lead roles were playing-

“The heldentenor and the contralto play _two_ characters?” he asked Mariangela. That was… new. It was also the only comment he felt safe making about it.

“It’s for the _symbolism, Signor_ Costa,” she said. “It’ll make sense at the end I _promise._ ”

The opera opened with Doctor Faust summoning the demon Mephistopheles, who went immediately into a song that promised to tell the audience the _true_ story of his works once he’d been released from Hell. The next scene was the demon arriving suddenly at the Jagdshall.

This was the beginning of Aleš and Basim’s song; Basim as the Erlkönig confronting Aleš’s Mephistopheles, demanding to know what a fallen angel was doing out of Hell. Aleš sang the response that announced his plan to do as much evil in the world as possible, and then killed the Erlkönig.

Heinrich thought that this could be quite impressive with the right staging and once you added the choir of Jäger the libretto called for.

Scene Three of Act One switched over to Polí Thálassas, where an Oceanid the libretto named as Tyche- the soprano role- reported to Amphitrite Kataiis- one of the characters for the contralto- what had happened to the Erlkönig and the Hunt.

Tyche was a name lifted straight from Greek mythology, and Heinrich had to take a couple of moments at the beginning of Sabina’s lament as Amphitrite that the demon was sitting on the route between Earth and Honalee, preventing her from seeing her husband, Venezia, to focus on his breathing. Tyche was the goddess of the city, who governed its prosperity. The Romans had called her Fortuna.   

Symbolism _indeed._

Somehow, Heinrich forced himself to read the rest of the libretto, after Sabina and Elena had finished singing. There were three more acts, and it was _uncanny,_ what Mariangela had written.

And the ending-

 _Oh,_ the ending. There _was_ a good reason for the leads to play two characters each.

But of all the roles she could have written for him- _this?_

Heinrich closed the booklet and inhaled, slowly, like he was working on breathing exercises.

“This is good,” he told Mariangela. “This is very, very good. Thank you.”

He felt like something head reached up under his ribs and was slowly, slowly tearing its claws through his heart.

* * *

He left the libretto with the sheet music on the kitchen table when he went home and shut himself up in the bedroom.

Adriana found it there when _she_ came home, and read through it before coming upstairs with the booklet in hand.

“I thought you didn’t tell her about what happened to your father,” she said, sitting next to him on the bed. “Or who your sister was. I thought you and Venice and all the others were keeping it quiet.”

“I didn’t tell her; and we are,” Heinrich replied. “But if it _had_ to happen- I _wish_ it had happened like that, Adriana. I really do.”

He took the libretto from her.

“It’s a good opera,” he said. “It’s inventive and creative and I want to see it staged. I just- it’s going to hurt, singing it.”

“You don’t _have_ to, Heinz.”

“If it’s going to happen the way it deserves to happen, yes, I do,” Heinrich told her. “And, well-”

He smiled, a little shakily.

“Think about what Mariangela would look like when she finds out I’d invited the Jagdsprinz and Venice and Amphitrite!”

 _“Heinrich,”_ Adriana scolded, trying not to smile herself. “That’s _mean._ ”

“No, no,” he insisted, brightening up. “It’s good sense! If I tell her I’m inviting them before the opera goes on, then she’d just get nervous! Better to introduce them all afterwards.”

“But how would you get your sister and Venice to come, with what she’s written?”

Heinrich paused momentarily.

“I won’t tell them.”

“What?” his wife asked.

“I won’t tell them the story,” he said. “I’ll invite them, and I won’t tell Mariangela, but I _also_ won’t tell them the plot. They’ll just have to sit through it to find out.”

“That sounds cruel, Heinrich.”

“Only if it doesn’t work,” he said. “If it works- there can be a world of good in fantasy, Adriana.”

He looked down at the libretto.

“Mariangela _deserves_ to see this staged,” Heinrich decided. “But Nia _needs_ it.”

* * *

“Oh God; oh God,” Mariangela said, trying not to let her voice crack and screech. “We’re _what?_ ”

“La Fenice is staging _Il diavolo di Martigny_ for next season,” _Signor_ Costa told her again, _entirely_ too cheerfully. “I took it to them and it _is_ a very last-minute addition and no one’s ever staged it before, but I said I thought it would be a good idea and since we already have people experienced for four of the bigger roles and the fifth person is _me,_ they agreed. At this point it’s getting the orchestra to learn the score, giving the choir their pieces, putting together the set, and Aleš and Sabina and I doing a _lot_ of practice. And we’d have to find another tenor and another baritone, but that shouldn’t be hard. I liked Marlon Mallory as David in _Nürnberg_ and he’s played Faust before, so I’d like to invite him for that role, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Mariangela told him faintly.

“Great,” he said. “Well, I’m going to go give the music to Ziya so he can start the orchestra on it, ask Marlon to take the part, and start sorting out the set and asking around the baritones that haven’t left yet. It’s not a _big_ part, but it would be good to have someone sooner rather than later. I’ll probably be a little while, so you should all start practicing.”

 _“You said I wouldn’t have to do it on **stage!** ” _Aleš wailed at her once the door closed behind _Signor_ Costa.

“I didn’t think he was going to use his pull with the theater to _stage it_ and then make executive casting decisions!”

“I am _not_ ready to sing opposite to him I am _not_ ready to sing opposite to him-” Sabina muttered to herself as she started pacing, pressing her head between her hands.

“Where are they going to get the money to put it on so quickly?” Basim asked. “There’s a _reason_ we plan ahead in opera-”

“ _Signor_ Costa has money,” Elena told him. “A _lot_ of it. I don’t know from where or why, because his wife’s just a _police officer,_ but he does. That’s why he could live in the city and be a stay-at-home father and only has to do the roles he wants to and we barely had to pay him anything for lessons. He could probably pay for the sets himself. He could probably pay for the whole _opera_ by himself.”

“That must be nice,” he said enviously. “ _I’d_ like to not have to worry about money.”

“I think this is going to be fun!” Elena said, looking around at everyone else. “We’re filling all the important roles- when else would we get to do that? We’d have to wait like ten more years at _least_ otherwise. This could be our break into bigger parts and more pay!”

“In two weeks you’re going to be just as panicky as the rest of us!” Sabina half-snapped.

“Yeah, I know,” the soprano said. “But right now it’s too exciting! You’re going to be singing with _Signor Costa,_ Sabina, come on! You’ll do great!”

* * *

Marlon Mallory did agree to the part, and _Signor_ Costa found a baritone to fill the bit-part role of the GfL volunteer in a man named Gustav Landau, who had been The King’s Herald in La Fenice’s just-finished production of _Lonhengrin_. It wasn’t really a step up, roles wise, but it was employment and he didn’t mind staying in Italy and singing again at La Fenice. It was a good opera house, and famous names got you places.

May to mid-June was a break for everyone except _Signor_ Costa, who was handling the set. By the end of June it was mostly completed and everyone was back to start practicing for _Il diavolo di Martigny,_ and going to other auditions in what free time they had between opera and the part-time jobs they had to hold to get by.

“He’s got a big part in this one,” Marlon mentioned one day in July. “And he’s doing behind-the-scenes things, too, but he’s not taking any other roles? La Fenice is doing _Tristan und Isolde_ and from what I heard in _Nürnberg_ I bet he’d be great as Tristan.”

“ _Tristan und Isolde_ is the one Wagner opera he doesn’t do,” Aleš told him. They were taking a break from practicing the opening, where Faust summoned Mephistopheles. “I remember he said he doesn’t really want to do anything with the Ring cycle because it’s so much work and effort and nobody appreciates it properly, but I’ve heard him do some of Siegfried’s songs before anyway. But he doesn’t do Tristan.”

Marlon thought that was strange, and mentioned it to Gustav, and Gustav came to practice two weeks later with the reason why.

“So most of my friends are still up in Schleswig-Holstein and Denmark and the Norway-Sweden area, right?” he said. “But there’s this one friend I have, Anna, she’s at the Stuttgart Opera right now and she says that one of the people _she_ knows who works there remembered that _her_ vocal teacher said _Signor_ Costa used to sing there when it was Germany, because the first time _he_ saw _Tristan und Isolde_ it was with _Signor_ Costa as Tristan and he remembers because that was the same month as the Fire of Berlin and he didn’t audition for anything that season because he was up in Berlin helping with the relief efforts and _Signor_ Costa was working with the GfL leadership somehow.”

“I didn’t know he was part of the GfL,” Mariangela said. “You’d think he’d have stayed and kept helping out.”

Sabina shrugged, thinking of his family here.

“Love is a powerful thing,” she said. “But it makes sense why he doesn’t do _Tristan und Isolde_ any longer.”

Things had started to come together by the end of the month, when everyone’s schedules were set and there was about a month until the start of the season and two until the premiere of _Il diavolo di Martigny_. Opening night for the 2082-83 season was September 5 th, and the first night of _Il diavolo_ was October 12th. The songs were about as good as they were going to get, the staging was almost sorted out, and now half the cast had other, much smaller, roles to attend to first.

* * *

La Fenice announced their schedule for the 2082-83 season on August 1st, which meant Heinrich had some work to do.

He started in Venice, because that was easiest.

“ _Babbo_ ,” he said over lunch. “La Fenice is putting on an opera one of my students wrote- Mariangela, you remember me telling you about her?”

“Mari…” Venice pondered, drawing on his memory and the sense of his people to find the right name. “Mariangela Ardovini! Oh, that’s really exciting, Heinrich! Did you want me to come?”

“Yes,” Heinrich told him, producing two tickets for opening night. “I’m singing one of the leads, so Adriana will be there too, and my other students are filling the rest of the biggest roles.”

“I bet they’re going to be really good!” his father assured him, taking the tickets. “Why two?”

“I want Amphitrite to come, too.”

Feliciano blinked at him.

“What?” he asked. “Really?”

“Really,” Heinrich said. “And I hope she likes it.”

“Hmmm-”

The polite noise of response cut off abruptly as Venice noted the title of the opera on the tickets.

“She’s written _what?_ ” he wheezed.

“It’s good, _Babbo_ ,” Heinrich told him firmly. “And I didn’t tell her anything. She came up with it all on her own. It’s about the Hunt, and I’m proud of her creative skills. Will I see you and Amphitrite at the premiere?”

“I-”

Venice was clearly still shocked by what his son was going to be singing in, but after a moment pushed past it to agree that, yes, he and Amphitrite would be there.

The next place he went was Martigny. He arranged to stay the night with Zell and Rémy at the UN office, and brought the libretto with him. He sprung it and the tickets on his sister and brother-in-law over dinner.

Zell read through it and then gave him a hard look over the top of the glasses she’d started needing some years ago to read anything.

“Are you _certain_ this is a good idea, Heinz?” she asked sternly.

“It’s the only one I’ve got,” he told her. “ _Babbo_ and Amphitrite are coming and I should be able to convince Nia. I want you two to be there because I want you there and it’ll be good; but we might need a buffer if things _don’t_ go well. I hope they don’t, and I’m sorry if it goes that way, but-”

Zell tapped the table absently with her fingers while her husband’s eyebrows rose higher and higher the further he got through the libretto.

“This doesn’t sound like it’s going to be easy to sit through,” Rémy said. “For anyone who has a personal attachment to it.”

“It’s not easy to sing,” Heinrich said, thinking of the first time he’d had to do one of his songs about the middle of the play in front of other people. On his own, _Hellfire_ just hurt; but in front of other people he’d gotten a few stanzas into the first portion- the _happy_ part, that shouldn’t have been a problem- and frozen up, choking off in the middle of a line. Everyone had been very concerned, and he’d had to give the half-lie that he’d been there when the city burned, and it wasn’t very pleasant to pull the emotions back up.

It wasn’t; but those hadn’t been the emotions he’d been pulling on do _that_ character.

“But you’re doing it anyway,” Zell finished for him, understanding. “Then we’ll come.”

The next morning he went up to the Jagdshall and inadvertently ended up quite lost. He made it to Switzerland’s old house easily enough, but the area between it and the Jagdshall had gotten very built up. There was an entire little _town_ on the side of the mountain now, complete with paved roads and street signs printed in German, French, and something he didn’t recognize at all.

He was standing uncertainly under a sign that read _Offizierenstraβe/Rue des officiers/AXSПTJAΣAƋSKVПTSA_ when Ly Erg found him and took him up to his sister, who was very surprised to see him.

“I came up to see Zell and Rémy yesterday and I’m leaving again this afternoon,” he explained.

Nia gave him a look.

“And you didn’t _tell_ me you were coming? Luisa and Mosè should both be free, but I could have made sure they were scheduled for-”

“I didn’t say anything because I have a surprise for you,” Heinrich cut her off, and handed her a ticket. “Now, I know you don’t like coming to Venice, but one of my students wrote and composed this and the rest of them have singing parts in it, and I want to show them off. I’m also singing the male lead, and I’d like you to come.”

Nia read the title on the ticket and scowled at him.

“Yes, it’s about the Hunt; no I didn’t tell her anything,” he told his sister. “It’s based completely off of the public information. Zell and Rémy already agreed to come, so you could come down with them.”

He paused for a moment as a thought occurred to him. He looked over at Ly Erg.

“There’s someone singing the part of your father, actually,” he told the man. “If you wanted to see it.”

The Prince of the Tylwyth Teg looked puzzled.

“ _‘Singing the part’_?” he asked. “I don’t understand. Songs do not have _‘parts’_. Theater does.”

“It’s a sort of theater where people sing a lot more than they talk,” Nia told him. “It’s artistic. Very classy.”

Ly still looked doubtful.

“The first performance is the night of October 12th, in Venice,” Heinrich said. “That’s when Nia’s ticket is, and Zell’s and Rémy’s. Will I be seeing you, Nia?”

She clenched her jaw for a moment, then sighed, heavily.

“Since it’s important to you,” Nia told him.

* * *

“Just tell me it’s going to be okay,” Mariangela said.

“It’s going to be okay,” Sabina reassured her, adjusting the gold-colored mural crown she wore for her role as Empress Amphitrite. The dress that went with it was a magnificent piece, bright royal blue and white satin with little jewels and hints of turquoise. It was the most expensive costume of the entire production and she had to be careful in it- some parts were delicate, and the lead roles had thematically-significant costume changes to work through.

“We’ll be fine,” Marlon said as the orchestra started to play.

“ _And_ we’re off,” Aleš muttered, hurrying away to get into position.

Mariangela had refused to be anywhere but backstage for the premier. It wouldn’t at all be the same experience as sitting in the audience and seeing the production in all its glory, but she’d be less nervous knowing that things were going all right behind the scenes.

Act One opened in Dr. Faust’s study, and a surprise for the audience. While Mariangela had cribbed the tenor casting of the scholar from Gounod’s famous opera, this Faust was not a depressed, suicidal old man who could find no more happiness in life. Instead Marlon portrayed a man in the prime of his life, pacing around his study in a frustrated half-rage as he picked books off his shelves and discarded them, in German decrying his inability to find the answers he truly wanted. After some time he came upon the idea of summoning a demon to simply _tell_ him the answers he sought and began clearing away the set pieces to make room for the summoning ritual as the choir chanted a baleful undertone to his spell.

Aleš appeared as Mephistopheles in the usual cloud of smoke into a harsh spotlight on a suddenly-dark stage, the orchestra and choir rising in a synchronized wail at his appearance. He sang, also in German, directly to the audience, naming Faust a fool for thinking a mere human scholar could control a fallen angel, and shoved Marlon out of the edges of the light into the pitch blackness to show that he’d taken the scholar’s soul as the price of the summoning.

The in-act scene transition between Faust’s study and the Jagdshall was pulled off by the theatrical misdirection of Aleš’s performance. The end crescendo of his introductory song cut off abruptly with the sudden re-introduction of light to the rest of the stage, revealing that the set pieces that Marlon had started pushing off-stage had been completely replaced in the dark by a rather minimalist, vague arrangement of columns and sheets of fabric, dominated by a table off on stage right, surrounded by chairs.

Basim rose from the nearest one abruptly in the Jagdsprinz’s armor, demanding to know what a fallen angel was doing out of Hell. Aleš and Basim went through the first song Mariangela had written perfectly, Mephistopheles and the Erlkönig getting more and more combative, emphasizing the harsher sounds in the German they sang until the demon declared his intention to do as much evil in this world as possible and slew the Erlkönig, the stage fading into darkness as the choir members portraying the Jäger of the Hunt fell as Mephistopheles grew in power, Aleš voice eventually the only sensory input from the stage as he concluded his destruction of the Hunt on a triumphant note.

All was quiet for a few moments and then the orchestra picked back up again, softly, and a spotlight started to gently illuminate Elena in her flowing, white and pale turquoise nightgown-like dress. As the Oceanid Tyche, she moved slowly towards stage left from the place where the table had stood not very long ago, singing a quiet, haunting lament in Italian to the end of the Hunt as more and more of the set lit up in white and blue as she passed by.

Elena ended her song on stage right in a deep curtsey to Sabina as Amphitrite, who immediately started singing out her grief at the news and her worry for Honalee and her people before suddenly realizing that Mephistopheles was sitting on the passage between Honalee and Earth. She let loose with a wail of pain, telling Tyche of her heartbreak at the thought of never seeing Venezia again, of never visiting her husband, exulting in joy at his triumphs and sharing in his sorrow in his defeats. As she worried what would happen to him without her personal support, Tyche volunteered to travel to Earth secretly, every year, in place of her Queen, to collect the golden ring of their renewed wedding vows from ƚa Sènsa and the news of the city to bring back.

Joyfully, but not without pain, Sabina accepted the offer with a few heart-wrenching words of Italian; and Act One was finished.    

* * *

Heinrich was a few seconds away from stepping out onto stage for the beginning of Act Two and tried very, very hard not to worry about his family in the audience.

The plot of the opera- though Mariangela had managed to create some uncanny similarities to the truth out of sheer chance- had quite a lot of lies in it, most of them tied to the propagandic overtones of the relationship of Polí Thálassas to the city they all lived in. There hadn’t been much to worry either his sister or his remaining parent in Act One; but from here on out, it would be different.

He checked his costume- simple, a relaxed suit in charcoal gray and a royal blue shirt.

He stepped out on stage- his place for this scene was a simple balcony over stage left, and he leaned on the railing in the pose he’d practiced.

He took a deep breath.

The lights came on and the curtain rose and Heinrich started singing in Italian, as Venezia.

Venezia sang about his relief that the Cold War was over, and Heinrich remembered hearing that Nia had returned to Earth. Venezia slid into melancholy about the country he’d once had, and Heinrich thought about Germany. Venezia wondered mournfully about what had become of Amphitrite, who had let him rule the Mediterranean, and concluded he had been abandoned; and Heinrich imagined he was standing in front of the Fire memorial in Berlin.

His song had taken him down from the balcony, descending the staircase to stand at a point of the stage that was supposed to mark the edge of a canal-side walkway. He finished with a line informing the audience that he was going to do his best to cheer up on the way to the celebratory end-of-the-war party that Switzerland was hosting in Martigny, and turned to walk off the stage.

Behind him, he heard Elena begin her short piece expressing her worry at Venezia’s journey, knowing that it will bring him close to the demon, and resolving to follow him. This song was an expository necessity for the end of the act, but it also served as a cover for the incredibly fast, though minor, costume change Heinrich had to go through.

As the costumers attached the ruby red fake front of a shirt to the inside of his suit jacket Heinrich smiled reassuringly to Sabina, who had already done her costume change for the end of Act Three and was pacing around going over her lines and lyrics again; and Mariangela, who was trying not to hover.

“Good job so far!” Marlon told him quietly. He was out of costume, done for the night. Faust only appeared in the first act.

“Thank you,” Heinrich told him, and then it was back on stage, filing silently into the darkened area on the opposite end of the set than Elena, still illuminated in the _‘canal’_ with members of the chorus in costumes similar to his own, but less intensely-colored and a little more casual.

Elena exited stage right, opposite of Heinrich and the choir, and then the lights were back on over the rest of the stage.

Here, Heinrich got a bit of a break, able to hang back in the group of people, his voice meant to blend with the choir’s, all of them collectively portraying Europe’s Nations about 1990. A portion of the choir broke off to sing as the newly formerly-Communist states, happily extolling how much better their futures seemed now that the Soviet Union had collapsed.

Then Aleš made his appearance on stage as Mephistopheles, to a great crashing clashing of the orchestra. He began mocking the Nations, lording the power he’d grown and hoarded through the centuries over them, taunting them with the promise of a time of renewed troubles and the return of the Cold War- a war that would turn hot, that would tear at the heart of Europe and destroy it worse than either of the World Wars.

And it was Heinrich’s turn again, to step up, to sing in German- to be Deutschland, begging the demon to leave his people be, to spare them from the return of anything like the depravations of the Soviets or the Nazis- to give them even a _century_ of peace-

In a theatrical act of violence, Mephistopheles’ power was displayed by Aleš pretending to backhand his former teacher across the face and Heinrich faking a fall to the ground, facing away from the audience.

This time the choir covered for him the way Elena had as Tyche. They acted consternated, scared, futilely heroic , Mephistopheles overcoming them with little effort as Heinrich surreptitiously took off and hid the false shirt front, revealing the royal blue underneath and changing character.

He rose to his feet in Italian, Venezia opposing Mephistopheles on the strength of his faith in God and humanity and his fellow Nations.

Aleš laughed in his face, declaring that he’d already won because he had caused Venezia to become a fallen Nation, cut off from Honalee and his source of power, the wife he loved.

Venezia swore to Mephistopheles that he and Amphitrite would find a way to reunite and overthrow the demon; and then Tyche swooped in as Heinrich and Aleš pantomimed fighting, the Oceanid come to assist the Nations. Mephistopheles retreated and the choir of Nations sang their relief, tempered by worry about the demon’s threats.

The song finished with a few solo lines by Tyche, informing Venezia that Amphitrite missed him just as much as he missed her, informing him of the Hunt’s demise, and passing on a promise from Amphitrite that she would find a Jagdsprinz to replace the Erlkönig and vanquish Mephistopheles.

Act Two finished, and Heinrich tried to convince himself that he would be all right in Act Three.

* * *

Nia had provided Zell and Rémy with transport to Venice, since they were all going to the same place and they had seats in the same box. Ly Erg had decided to come as well, with Odile, but they had bought their tickets separately and were seated somewhere else; and had peeled off before the opera even started, still unsure exactly what they were in for but happy with the excuse to dress up. Nia hadn’t worn her formal uniform, as she would have for other occasions, so as not to cause a stir; and Odile had insisted on Earth formal clothes for the same reason, so she and he were effectively incognito in the larger opera-going crowd, though Ly’s long hair and Tylwyth-pattern beard would remain distinctive even if no one knew where the fashion was from.

It was nice, having a box with only her sister and brother-in-law. She and Zell had been to many operas before, both to see Heinrich in his parts and because of his and- _Venice’s_ undying love for the genre, and Zell knew how she liked to see opera.

The plot summaries for each act of an opera were printed in the playbook for the benefit of the audience, who might or might not know the language being sung in or even understand all the words even if they _did._ Nia had figured out that she was much more interested in an opera, seeing it for the first time, if she didn’t know the story and had to work it out for herself. Seeing it a second or third or fourth time, she could do things like appreciate the music or pick up on the little acting cues or focus on the singer’s voices- but the first time around, the details just weren’t as impressive, which meant the plot was the only thing keeping her engaged.

So Nia had handed her playbook over to Zell as soon as she’d gotten it to resist the temptation to read it. She’d take a look at the plot summary at the end of an act to check her understanding of what had just happened, but otherwise she didn’t want anything to do with it.

That meant she was completely blindsided by her brother singing as their dead father halfway through the second act. She stayed stuck in her seat all through the intermission, ignoring Zell’s suggestion that she go get some water as she tried to process past the initial shock.

This was _not_ an opera about the Hunt; not _really._

She was going to have _words_ with Heinrich after this was over.

Act Three opened in Berlin, on Heinrich as their _Vati_ again, and dread settled low in her stomach.

As Heinrich sang, Deutschland’s words firm and strong with pleasure and content about his place as leader amongst his neighbors, Nia _knew_ that he was remembering what she was, in this moment, to put the right emotions into the aria.

9 November 2039 had been the fiftieth anniversary of the Wall coming down. Nia and Heinrich had been 22 and Zell 26, and three years married to Rémy. Nia hadn’t moved to Copenhagen yet, but Zell was already in New York City and Heinrich had an apartment in Köln that was really more a place to keep his things as he traveled around auditioning for roles and taking parts in various productions. November was halfway through opera season and plane tickets from America to Germany were expensive, but all three of them, plus Rémy, had come home to celebrate the Reunification with Germany and Prussia _._

Nia remembered _Vati_ telling them, late that night, voice slow and low and glowing with a quiet pride in himself and his people that they rarely ever saw, how _happy_ he was.

Heinrich sang in Deutschland’s voice a celebration about the success of the German people, praising their peace and reveling in their hope for a tomorrow even better than today and the aria built and built and the orchestra followed and the sheer _joy_ of it all reached a crescendo-

Mephistopheles was illuminated, briefly, in a darkened niche of the city set, and Heinrich turned the crescendo into a _scream._

Nia jumped in her seat at the sound, heart racing; and Heinrich fell to his knees on stage, clutching his head, sinking the pain of grief she knew entirely too well into the performance. He less sang than shrieked German that she could actually understand, the orchestra eerily silent.

 ** _“Hellfire!”_** was the word. **_“HellFI-”_**

Heinrich toppled over to the floor; and Deutschland was dead.

Nia didn’t realize she was shaking until Zell twined their fingers and squeezed, leaning over the divide of the seats to press her side into her sister’s.

“Are you all right?” Zell murmured to her.

Nia forced herself to breathe and squeezed back, leaning into her, as well.

The reappearance of some of the chorus and the contralto who had sung Amphitrite in the first act wasn’t enough of a distraction. She knew that she hadn’t _really_ just sat through her father’s death- but what the head and the heart knew were two different things when it came to grief, and she’d spent too long wondering what her _Vati_ ’s death _had_ been like to do anything but stare at Heinrich, collapsed on the stage, even as upstage dimmed so he could retreat backstage, unseen.

She’d been told by Nations who were there what Germany’s death had _looked_ like.

But surely he’d been in pain, when it happened. Surely he’d been screaming inside, like that, like what Heinrich had just done, as Berlin burned and he was ripped out existence by the demon.

“I think that’s supposed to be you,” Zell told her quietly, inclining her head at the contralto, trying to distract her from her thoughts.

Nia did her best to focus on the rest of the act, to not very much success. She managed to grasp that the chorus were assorted Berliners, and that the contralto was, in fact, playing her- the writer had given her character’s name as Sonnehilde, and in a strange twist of the universe placed her in the position Heinrich had been in, assisting refugees fleeing the burning city.

One of the chorus members turned out not to be a chorus member, but a bit-part singer playing the role of a GfL volunteer who stepped out of the crowd once they’d reached safety to provide exposition to Sonnehilde- for the benefit of the audience, really, but ostensibly to address the female lead’s announcement that she’d thought she’d heard a horrible scream of pain, like the country had cried out in its death throes- about the bombs, the shootings, the arsons, and, finally, Deutschland’s announced death.

 Sonnehilde descended into a thunderous fury, invoking the wrath of God and vowing to avenge her Nation; and at the end of it Tyche emerged from the River Spree to offer her a way to do so, telling the woman that she’d been tasked by her Queen to find someone to kill the demon and that the demon was, ultimately, the one at fault for the destruction of Deutschland.

That was how Act Three ended, and even though Nia had _lived_ that revenge and knew exactly how good it had felt, the righteous anger on stage was no comfort.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell you how Act Four goes?” Zell asked in the dark moments after the curtain had closed.

“I-” Nia said, voice cracking. “I’ll make it through.”

* * *

Feliciano knew very well that she was not emotionally prepared for Act Four, but it was starting up regardless. In the playbook, she’d read as far as through Act Two before her thoughts had started tying themselves in knots. She would have left, but Amphitrite was here and keen on discovering exactly what was so wonderful about opera- and she’d promised Heinrich, besides.

“This is a very interesting take on the story,” Amphitrite told her. “I was not expecting to enjoy seeing myself portrayed on stage so much.”

Feliciano made a little noise in reply that she hoped didn’t sound strangled, and the curtain came up on Act Four. She was relieved to see that Heinrich was nowhere to be seen on stage- the bass singing Mephistopheles was the only person on stage, gloating about his victories over Faust, the Erlkönig, Amphitrite, Venezia, and Deutschland. He continued stroking his ego for a while, and Feliciano figured it was probably to let the two leads rest for a while.

Just when it seemed like Mephistopheles would _never_ shut up, Tyche appeared at the head of the choir, once more portraying Jäger, and the contralto in an outfit Feliciano was briefly puzzled by. It _looked_ like it was supposed to be Nia’s armor, but there wasn’t enough black-lacquered fake plate to really pull off the effect. The knee-length brigandine under the plate also looked distinctly dress-like, as well, and was a very light gray, though this at least that seemed like it was supposed to be a tribute to the black-and-gray of the regular Jäger’s uniforms. The cape was wrong, too, purple instead of red, for no good reason that she could see.

Tyche sang as the herald of the reformed Hunt, telling Mephistopheles of his impending doom. The demon scoffed at this announcement, and then Sonnehilde swept forward in a red spotlight to challenge him.

The costume made sense, then- the very light gray of the sort-of brigandine turned red in the light, and the cape turned a deep red-purple, like dark wine. It was a theatrical choice; heightening the emotions of the stage fight and the orchestral accompaniment.

A red light switched on over the stage left balcony, and there was Heinrich again, loud and stern as Deutschland calling for vengeance and encouraging Sonnehilde over the instrumental violence of the fight.

Mephistopheles died with a swell of noise from the orchestra, and then Tyche led the choir of Jäger in proclaiming the victorious Sonnehilde Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor, a stanza that bled seamlessly into a martial-

Wait. That was a martial rendition of the third stanza of _Das Lied der Deutschen_ , the only part of the German national anthem that had stayed in effect after the second World War. That was- a bit disquieting, to hear.

 _Ludwig wouldn’t like that at **all** , _she thought, and couldn’t resist the urge to huddle in on herself, arms wrapped around her stomach and shoulders hunched forwards, trying to stave off tears and a rising nausea. She felt Adriana, in the seat next to her, place a hand on her back, trying to offer comfort.

Tyche and the choir finished and melted off into the background, leaving the stage to the contralto and Heinrich, still bathed in red light- but it was softer, now. 

Heinrich started to descend from the balcony, thanking Sonnehilde in song for killing the demon Mephistopheles. Sonnehilde replied, as he reached the stage floor, that she was- _oh-_ she was still grieving his loss, upset that she hadn’t known of the demon earlier so she could have foiled his plans before her home city had to burn and her Nation die.

Deutschland reassured her that all was well, now that- that-

Heinrich sang the words _“my memory is free”_ , and Feliciano broke down sobbing.

On stage, she could hear her son reprising the song of pride and joy from the beginning of Act Two, that had ended so horribly; but this time when he reached the crescendo he came down on the other side singing high, happy notes in _Italian,_ and she had to force herself to look back at the stage. Heinrich was standing there illuminated in soft blue now, Venezia thanking Sonnehilde for what she’d done because now he could see Amphitrite again.

The stray thought: _they put him in that same gray, too, the lights and language are how you know which character they’re playing; so **that’s** why the leads both have two parts, _passed through her head as Sonnehilde accepted Venezia’s thanks and wished him as much happiness with Amphitrite as she’d had, being a citizen of Germany-

_If **only.**_

-and the contralto too reached a crescendo and came down in Italian, light going from red to blue, and Amphitrite and Venezia sang of reunion and love.

Heinrich’s notes started dropping down the scale, going low and quiet, and he was once again Deutschland, imploring Amphitrite in German to protect and defend Venezia just as Venezia once had him-

Feliciano gasped in pain, vaguely aware of Adriana and Amphitrite, on either side of him, glancing over in worry. In the context of the opera, it was clearly supposed to be referencing the moment in Act Two when Venezia had stood up to Mephistopheles in Martigny; but all Feliciano could think of was the Teufelhaus, watching everyone die again and again until she’d _finally_ gotten them all out-

Sitting up with Ludwig in the night, when he couldn’t sleep without nightmares and guilt suffocating him-

Coming to him during the breaks in meetings to tell him he was doing a good job, it was all right-

Wrapping her arms around him, because Ludwig needed the comfort and someone to lean into when he got panicky thinking about things like owning a military, or the authority of the government-

Looking their fellow Nations straight in the eyes, forcing steel into her spine and voice with the memory of being an empire, and telling them to _fuck off, Ludwig doesn’t need you tearing into him-_

 Drinking lightly and dancing in German gay bars with their human friends, in the sixties seventies eighties nineties, when they loved each other but there weren’t the proper words, the communities, yet, to express how they felt about themselves; but never telling the other they _shouldn’t_ feel as they did-

Taking their human friends aside, one by one, as they made them, when Ludwig wasn’t looking or didn’t know, and telling them quietly about their history; because if someone didn’t want to associate with an ex-Nazi and a former fascist, even one who’s heart hadn’t been in it, they were allowed to; but that didn’t mean that _Ludwig_ had to hear some of the reactions she’d gotten after the explanations-

On stage, Heinrich and the contralto passed each other, vocally, Heinrich going high and the contralto going low, on their respective switches to back to Venezia and Sonnehilde. They pledged to keep the border between Earth and Honalee open forevermore; and then the orchestra changed key.

Feliciano forced herself to look, again, at the stage. It was illuminated in soft purple-white, now, and one of them was singing in Italian and one of them was singing in German but she couldn’t tell who was doing which.

Venezia/Deutschland and Amphitrite/Sonnehilde promised that they would keep each other _“safe in heart and mind and soul forever”_ and embraced. The song finished, the lights faded out, and the opera was over.

Feliciano cried inconsolably all through the applause, the curtain call, and the quiet rumble of the audience getting up to leave.

* * *

Heinrich got a message from Rémy as soon as the curtain call finished, asking him to come up to the box. Nia needed the support.

He got away from the others in the bustle of immediately post-performance without anyone noticing, grabbing his coat to cover up his costume and taking back ways up to the boxes, slipping into the one he’d gotten his sisters the tickets for without anyone recognizing him.

Rémy got up from his seat so Heinrich could take it, and he slipped in next to Nia, leaning uncomfortably across the arm rest to hug her.

“This-” Nia pushed through the tail end of her crying. There weren’t tears, any longer, but she was still breathing like she’d been sobbing and she was obviously stuffed up.

“This-” she tried again, and jabbed a finger accusingly at the stage. “That was blatant emotional manipulation!”

“Yes it was,” Heinrich said without a hint of apology.

“If you invited _me_ because it was _‘about the Hunt’,_ ” Nia said. _“_ Then Venice and Amphitrite are here too, _somewhere,_ because you wouldn’t _not_ invite them to an opera about themselves! _You_ just wanted me too exhausted to get angry about us being in the same place!”

“I do want you and _Mamma_ in the same place without screaming,” Heinrich freely admitted. “But that’s not _entirely_ why I invited you.”

“You wanted to show off your students, yes, you told me-”

“And Zell told _me_ that you were worried about what _Vati_ would think of you,” he cut her off. “When Mariangela gave me this opera and I read through the finale, I knew it was something you needed. You’ve been acting on your best conscious as Jagdsprinz, Nia. You’ve avenged people, you’ve saved people- you stopped a _war-_ ”

“I _started_ it.”

“I don’t care how Arik told it to you,” Zell said. “He was trying to get you to do what you had to. _He_ knows, and _we_ know, and _you_ should know that you _didn’t._ Politicians and generals did. And even if you _had-_ what would _Vati_ have liked better than you taking that responsibility and fixing your own mistakes?”

“You know how he hated war,” Heinrich reminded Nia. “He’d be proud of you and what you’re doing. So let him go, at _least_ enough that you can do your duty without it hanging over you.”

Nia accepted a tissue from Rémy and blew her nose, getting her breathing under control.

“I _can’t,_ ” she told her brother. “I _can’t-_ ”

“If you _have_ to live up to _Vati_ thinking well of you,” he said. “Then you have to stop ostracizing _Mamma._ If you can’t forgive her, all right. But can’t you treat her civilly?”

“She-”

“ _Vati_ would be proud of you as Jagdsprinz,” Zell interrupted gently. “But even heartbroken, or betrayed, would he want you to hate _Mamma_?”

“You’ve hurt her a lot,” Heinrich said. “And she’s hurt you and us and if _Vati_ had ever found out, it would have hurt him too. But _Vati_ would still have loved her. He wouldn’t want you extracting retribution every time you’re in her vicinity. You can’t have it both ways, Nia- you worry about being Jagdsprinz because of what _Vati_ would think _and_ you treat _Mamma_ with some basic human decency, so you can do your job _right;_ or you stop worrying about doing a good job.”

Nia glared at him.

Heinrich looked back, steadily.

“I already said you didn’t have to forgive her. I don’t know _why_ that’s such a hard thing for you to do, but it _is_ interfering in you doing your duty. I watched Venice, for a quarter-century, turn into a second hub of Honalee-Earth interactions. We didn’t have any incidents that I know of, by good fortune and God’s favor- but there _could_ have been something, because the Hunt wasn’t here since you don’t _like_ Venice.”

“It’s good that they’re in the city now,” Zell said. “But keeping them out of it for so long _was_ a mistake. So tolerate her, will you, _please?_ You wouldn’t do it for your family; but can you do it for your duty and honor as the Jagdsprinz?”

 _That_ was what worked, for a reason he didn’t know. The talk of duty and honor was what finally got Nia straighten up, to clench her jaw and force a deep exhale and say: “Fine. I won’t forgive- but I can keep it less public.”

“Thank you, Nia,” Heinrich said, and tried not to be hurt that she’d spent twenty-nine years refusing to give that much for her own _family;_ but would do it for her job. He covered it up with cheer. “C’mon, I want to introduce you to the cast. It’s nice to know your performance gets emotional responses. I didn’t tell them I was inviting you- it’s going to be fun!”

Nia snorted, trying to rub some of the red out of her eyes.

“That’s _mean,_ Heinrich,” she said.

“Nope,” he disagreed. “It was good sense. No reason in making Sabina nervous by telling her the people she was singing were watching her do it. And Mariangela didn’t need to get all awkward knowing who she’d written for me to sing.”

“You didn’t tell them _anything?_ ” Rémy asked, a little aghast. “I thought you’d told them about Venice at _least._ You share a _surname-_ how could they have missed that?”

“Venice is their Nation and their King and acts as official head of state,” Heinrich said. “I’m just an older man with enough disposable income to raise my children without a job and live off of doing opera without straining myself and teaching the youngsters. If you don’t already know better, there’s no reason whatsoever that we should know each other. That’s why I want to see their faces when I tell them.”

* * *

“Where did _Signor_ Costa go?” Aleš asked. “I haven’t seen him yet and when I asked in the dressing room they said he hadn’t been by.”

“I have no idea,” Mariangela told him.

The seven of them, even Marlon and Gustav, who had kind of become part of their circle, were standing around in a group backstage. They’d thought that _Signor_ Costa would come to tell them what he’d thought of their performances, but maybe-

“Perhaps he’s emotionally distraught again?” Basim suggested.

“We should find him,” Elena said. “He probably needs- oh, _there_ he is!”

Mariangela jumped a little when _Signor_ Costa clapped a hand down on her shoulder.

“Good job, everyone,” he told them. “Especially you, Sabina and Aleš. You did a lot of work tonight, and you should be proud of yourselves.”

“Thank you, _Signor_ Costa,” Sabina said. “Who’s that?”

He looked over his shoulder to where the man she’d pointed at was leaning in a doorway.

“That’s Rémy, my brother-in-law,” he told her. “I invited some people to come and see us all tonight, and I’d like to introduce you.”

“We thought that maybe you didn’t have any siblings,” Aleš told him as _Signor_ Costa led them through the backstage area to a less-trafficked location and they said their hellos to his brother-in-law. “You’ve never talked about your family besides _Signora_ Costa and her side, and your kids.”

“They’re all very busy, or don’t live around here,” _Signor_ Costa said. “Usually both.”

He opened the door to one of the back stairs, revealing a group of people. Some of them looked familiar.

 _“Oh God,”_ Sabina wheezed. Mariangela found that her throat had decided to block up, of its own accord.

“You’ve all met Adriana before; but this is Zell Beilschmidt, my older sister,” _Signor_ Costa began, like nothing was _at all_ out of the ordinary. “Rémy’s her husband, and they both work for the UN. She’s the United Nations diplomatic officer to the Wild Hunt and formerly the Director of the Office of Nations’ Affairs.”

He gestured to a man with an interesting taste in facial hair.

“This is Prince Ly Erg ap Gwyn of the Tylwyth Teg, Kommandant of the Hunt’s 2nd Reiter, currently assigned to Martinach; and his wife, Lady Odile von Rothbart. That’s his father you were singing tonight, Basim.”

“You did him justice, Master El-Amin,” Ly told the man solemnly, then looked to Heinrich. “I _understand_ now, Prince Heinrich.”

Wait. Wait. ‘ _Prince’_?

Oh good Lord _please_ no-

“Opera is- it is _exquisite,_ indescribably so.”

“We really enjoyed it,” Odile said for the both of them. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“That’s my other sister Nia Beilschmidt,” _Signor_ Costa continued, indicating the middle-aged woman in the suit. She had a certain hardness to her, an edge, that was rather intimidating and spoke of authority. “She’s Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor.”

Sabina made a strangled sort of sound and Mariangela wondered if she could get away with sitting down on the stairs to keep from fainting. The Jagdsprinz wasn’t particularly recognizable out of uniform or armor, even with the air of power she had.

“But-” Elena said faintly. “ _You’re_ not Beilschmidt-”

“I use my other one now,” _Signor_ Costa said. “I have Costa from my father-”

He gestured to the person they’d all identified immediately.

“-Feliciano Costa, the Second Republic of Venice and King _Venezia_. And _that_ is, of course, his wife Empress Amphitrite Kataiis of Póli Thálassas.”

“You told us your father died in the Fire of Berlin,” Mariangela managed to say.

“Well, he did,” _Signor_ Costa told her. “I had two. The other one was Ludwig Beilschmidt, the Federal Republic of Germany.”

“I am _so_ sorry, _Signor_ Costa,” Mariangela said, and decided that it didn’t matter if she could get away with sitting down; because she was going to be on the floor in a moment whether she wanted to be or not.

 Basim caught her before she could really start falling, and guided her into sitting down on the stairs. Head spinning, she somehow still managed to register Sabina getting cornered between the Jagdsprinz and Empress Amphitrite, and the Prince of the Tylwyth Teg starting to talk Aleš’s ear off, and the others just mingling together-

Venice knelt down in front of her and took her hands, looking her right in the eyes. She floundered a little internally before noticing that he looked like he’d been crying not too long ago. This was grounding, somehow.

“Thank you for this, _Signora_ Ardovini,” her Nation told her. “It was- it wasn’t the truth, not at all. But from what truth you _did_ have you made a happier fantasy out of what we lived that I could have ever thought to ask for.”

* * *

_Il diavolo di Martigny_ ran for three nights, and none of them were nearly as nerve-wracking as the first. It was a different performance for the second two, now that they had all _met_ the people the story was about. Sabina, especially, put on an improved performance, lending dignity to Amphitrite and danger to Sonnehilde. On the last night, she and _Signor_ Costa got thunderous applause at the curtain call for their final duet and a bit of a standing ovation up in the box seats.

Mariangela thought that maybe she shouldn’t have, but she looked up reviews of her opera online. The critics and the general public were happy to praise _Signor_ Costa, and said that Sabina seemed like she had a good future in playing dramatic characters- but they weren’t particularly clear on what they thought about what she herself had wrought.

They said that _Il diavolo di Martigny_ was very different. They said that it was clearly a technical challenge, and that it could be intriguing to put on. They said that the thematic choice of making the leads sing _two_ roles, both paired, was daring; especially in the finale. They said that there were a few spectacular songs- when done with the right voices and acting- again mentioning the finale.

The critics and the public appreciated what she had written.

They just didn’t _approve_ of it.

“You’ll write other things,” Sabina tried to comfort her, the next week. “More traditional things, if you want to. And if not, there’s no reason you can’t make a name for yourself writing avant-garde opera.”

Everyone had given themselves a break after _Il diavolo_ and made certain, when they were going for try-outs, that they wouldn’t end up committing to something directly after Mariangela’s debut work. For everyone but Marlon and Gustav, this opera had given them bigger parts than they’d ever had before, and a week or so off would be a necessity to de-stress.

They still came to the group practice sessions, though. Music was work, and no one wanted to miss the chance to be with their friends.

During the afternoon of October 20th, a Jager in the heavy armor of the Reiter Regiments walked in on them.

“Terenzia!” _Signor_ Costa greeted her warmly. “Everyone, this is Kommandant Agresta of 5th Reiter, my cousin’s daughter.”

“Does he have any family who _aren’t_ involved with the Hunt somehow?” Mariangela heard Elena mutter to Sabina.

“Hi, _Zio_ Heinrich,” Kommandant Agresta said, and handed him a letter, sealed all up in wax and ribbon. “Leutnant Dariya had this passed down to her today from Martinach. It’s for you and _Signora_ Ardovini and everyone else involved in the opera last week.”

He took the letter from her and broke the seal. The Kommandant left quietly while he read it over.

“I think practice is done for today,” _Signor_ Costa said once he’d finished it.

“What’s wrong?” Sabina asked worriedly.

“It’s not- Well, there’s nothing _wrong,_ ” he replied unhelpfully. “But it seems that Queen Nicnevin- the Erlkönig’s widow and Queen of the Tylwyth Teg- came to the last night of _Il diavolo_ at her son’s urging.”

He looked at them all, gravely.

“She wants us to come put it on at her court in the Silent Hills. And she wants _you,_ Mariangela-”

Her stomach flipped over in nerves.

“-to write a companion piece about her husband and the founding of the Hunt.”

“I’ve been _commissioned?_ ”

“You don’t have to take it,” _Signor_ Costa told her. “This is just an invitation. If you don’t want to, no one is going to make you. _Any_ of you.”

“Going to Honalee would be more interesting than staying here,” Gustav put forward, a little hesitantly.

“It would probably be a good career move,” Elena said cautiously.

“It sounds fun,” Basim said. “I’d like to do it.”

“I-” Mariangela began, still trying to sort out how she felt. “I guess- why not? They already like us; and that’s more than we’d know about any _Earth_ audience.”

* * *

Heinrich took on the duty of managing the problem of taking the opera to Honalee.

 _‘Does Queen Nicnevin even know what it takes to put on an opera?’_ he wrote Nia once everyone had agreed to go to sing at her Court. _‘We need a suitable stage, and equipment, and a choir, and costumes, and a set. We can’t just take what we used at La Fenice and take it with us. It’s not ours.’_

 _‘I’ll make sure she understands,’_ Nia wrote him back. _‘Talk to Arik, he’s going to second you someone to handle communicating with her.’_

By January, it was decided that the group would sing for four nights. On the first night, they would put on the commissioned opera, _Der Erlkönig_ , and the second night would be _Il diavolo di Martigny_.Night three would be one other opera of their choice- Heinrich was going to make it _Ruslan and Lyudmila,_ Sabina’s favorite, so there would be a part for the contralto- and then night four would be a night of showcase singing.

In return for Queen Nicnevin paying for the costumes, the sets, the equipment, putting them up in the palace, and paying all wages; _they_ would be responsible for hiring the stage hands, the tech crew, the choir, the orchestra, and other actor-singers as needed.

January to April was a four-month slog through Heinrich’s contacts, Heinrich’s contacts’ contacts, and similar networking with the other singers’ friends and acquaintances as they tried to pull together enough people to put on an opera production. The orchestra, at least, was easy- the conductor at La Fenice, Ziya al-Din Ahmad, was interested in going to Honalee, and arranged with Heinrich to deal with the music himself.

Mariangela finished _Der Erlkönig_ in the beginning of May. It had a mezzo-soprano role, another bass role, and another soprano role. _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ called for _three_ bass parts, so in May Heinrich sent out the official announcement of the opera set to be performed at the Court of the Tylwyth Teg, advertising for the support roles they hadn’t filled yet and giving a date for the casting calls for the two basses, the soprano, the mezzo-soprano, and the choir.

By the end of the month, Heinrich had hired five new people for named singing roles. Evgeni and Gregor were the basses, Nosipho the mezzo, and Inès the soprano- but there was also a heldentenor who had turned up for the choir casting call and had been too good for Heinrich to pass up, Dario Mondugno. He justified it Dario being a reserve singer for his own roles.

“This is an _opera company,_ isn’t it,” Mariangela asked the night before they were set to leave. They’d rented out almost an entire hotel so everyone could sleep overnight in Martigny and get on the road in the morning.

“I suppose it is,” Heinrich agreed, thinking of the salary Queen Nicnevin was paying the original cast of _Il diavolo._ Somewhere, she had gotten the estimated figure for what a top-tier opera star in a season.

She wasn’t paying them as much as _that_ \- but he’d only found that out because she’d wrote him to _apologize_ for not being able to afford that much. Instead, it was a significant portion of that figure, _each,_ for just the four nights of singing. He hadn’t revealed the numbers to the rest of the group’s- oh, he might as well call it the core of the _company’s_ \- singers. It was already nerve-wracking enough for them to think they were performing for a King of Honalee and her Court without them trying to feel like they were living up to this sort of pay.Time enough for them to learn about it afterwards, and to have a wonderful surprise at the end of the performance set.

Nia had given them an honor guard of Jäger, led by Zorya Kascheiyivna and containing his own son. They’d explained the peculiarity in pay along with their own presence.

“You are the Jagdsprinz’s brother and the son of Kings, albeit one who cannot inherit,” Zorya had told him. “It would be beneath the Jagdsprinz’s dignity _not_ to give you an honor guard; and beneath _yours_ to have your guard commanded by someone who wasn’t of equal standing, since I was available.”

“And you’ll probably need people to help you translate things anyway, _Papà,_ ” Mosè added. “But yeah, it’s a politics thing- just like how Nicnevin would have insulted you _and Tante_ Nia if she’d offered you and the other _Il diavolo_ singers anything less than top rate pay.”

Going along the road to the Court the next morning, Heinrich felt a little ridiculous. The company’s singers were on horses, accompanied by the Jäger- the equipment, non-singing personnel, and choir had gone along ahead in trucks before dawn. This was more politics, apparently, with a bit of practicality. The equipment couldn’t be transported in anything but trucks, since there wasn’t a train line to the Court, and that much steel would cause a major disruption if it went through the Hills when people were out and about, so they’d _had_ to go early in the morning.

From an _honor_ standpoint- Heinrich had the feeling he would be tired of that word, eventually- the more people came before you in a procession, the more important you were. So anyone who had a named part came later in the morning, with the Jäger, giving the Court time to prepare for their coming.

Granted, their reception was very elaborate and impressive.

“This is kind of exciting,” Adriana commented later, when they’d been left alone in their rooms after lunch. Elsewhere, the crew and backstage workers were setting up the stage for the first performance, scheduled for tomorrow night. She’d refused to be left behind in Venice and let her husband go off without her _again_ to Honalee, and had taken extended leave from her job. “Being treated like royalty. I never thought I was one of those people who fantasized about being a princess, but I could get used to this.”

“We could refuse to leave,” Heinrich suggested, not at all seriously. “I hardly think they’d be allowed to kick us out, now that they’ve accepted us as guests.”

“Well, we have to leave _sometime,_ ” Adriana said reluctantly. “But maybe we could postpone it for a few days?”

He did not think that would be hard to do, and resolved to find a way to manage it.

That night was dress rehearsal, more for running through the equipment and making sure the stage was working than for more practice, though that was always a good idea. Everything worked smoothly; and it proved to be a sign of good luck for the next four nights.

 _Der Erlkönig_ and _Il diavolo_ went over quite well once the Court had adjusted to the _idea_ of an opera, which was no surprise given their subject matter. The success of _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ was a little harder to gauge, but the fantastical elements hopefully gave the audience some familiarity. Heinrich had a moment the next morning where he belatedly realized that _maybe_ they should have tried to hire some people to do _actual_ magical effects, since here in Honalee, people obviously knew what they were supposed to look like. He went to Zorya with his concerns.

“They understood it was written by humans who had no concept of such things,” she told him, dismissing his concerns. “But there are operas _not_ written in Italian and German, but _Russian,_ that sounds so much like Buyanov? How many? Are they all like this?”

Heinrich spent that morning telling Zorya about Russian opera.

The showcase singing was _definitely_ a hit, since the audience could respond after each song individually. He’d given into the inevitable and made one of his pieces Siegfried’s Forging Song as a compromise to the idea of singing Wagner in Honalee. He still remembered Nia telling him that she’d gotten the _Rhinegold_ from King Andvari, and didn’t want to go into one of the more mythological pieces.

Queen Nicnevin graciously told them they could stay for an extra two days after the one she’d already given them after the conclusion of the opera run to relax and rest- a gift, she said, for their wonderful voices. The company had learned during their stay that good voices, singing or orating, were something Honalee prized. Heinrich suspected it had something to do with the fact that they’d had little other way to distribute news before Nia had decided to put together a post system- he wouldn’t be surprised to find they had wandering bards or theater troupes acting the news.

The first day after the operas was a day of rest, as had been planned. So was the second day.

But on the third day, starting at lunch, when Zorya extended an invitation to come to do their set at _her_ father’s Court, they were suddenly inundated with invitations to introduce opera across what seemed like all of Honalee.

* * *

The only set thing, which Mariangela couldn’t find it in herself to be particularly happy about, was that the entire company was agreed that continuing to sing to Honalenier royalty for the rest of what would pass for the Earth opera season was a good idea.

“We’re getting paid _really, **really**_ well,” Sabina had said when she and _Signor_ Costa had been forced to field the question to everyone else. “And I couldn’t care less if Queen Nicnevin is going to let us take the set and costumes and equipment with us because its self-serving and shows off her money and beneficence- it means we don’t have to worry about _that._ ”

“If we give the Courts enough time to outfit an appropriate venue,” _Signor_ Costa said. “I don’t think we should have many problems.”

“My father has a theater,” Zorya told them. “It can be made ready.”

“Why do they _like_ us so much?” Mariangela asked her.

“We do not put music on stage in Honalee,” Zorya explained to them. “The stage is for theater, which is to be carried by the force of personality of the actor’s voices and presence, not any musical accompaniment. It is a solemn, dramatic re-enactment of historical events. Instrumental music is for dances, where no one sings; or to accompany a singer while they tell stories for entertainment, real stories embellished or pure fiction. Orators and storytellers relate recent history, or legends. _Very_ rarely have the High Legends been put to theater. But _you_ have put history and fantasy on stage, to song and instrumentals, and does not- _cheapen_ them. This opera is dramatic and gripping and _new;_ and it must be seen to be believed.”

“Do you have professional dance troupes?” Sabina asked.

“In Kūnlún,” Zorya said. “And I have heard of-”

Her face scrunched up in concentration.

“ _‘Ball-et’_?” she said uncertainly. “The Russians are famous for it, they tell me, and I have wondered if our _burya-vyrpat’tya_ dancers are similar. They are for ceremony, not entertainment, but they are fascinating to watch.”

“ _‘Ballet’_ ,” Sabina corrected her. “We’d have to see them before we could tell you.”

“Well,” Zorya said. “You shall see them in Kitezh. Now, of any invitations to accept, you should take my father’s, Empress Xī Wángmǔ’s, and the invitation of the High King of Chicomoztoc. Chicomoztoc has full electricity, and you will be able to buy converters there to adapt your equipment to Honalee’s standards, which are what the theaters in Kitezh and Takama-ga-hara will have.”

“Empress Wángmŭ wants me to write her an opera, as well,” Mariangela said. “But she doesn’t say _what._ Do you have any idea?”

“No,” Zorya told her. “But I expect that it will be a High Legend. Now. You are the Court of the Tylwyth Teg right now, and if you take the road back to Nysa then you can use a train to take your equipment to Cíbola, and then from Cíbola to Takama-ga-hara, and then back on the same line through Chicomoztoc to Nysa, where there are ships to Kitezh.”

“That sounds a little roundabout,” Aleš said doubtfully.

“We’ll need that long to sort out which other Russian opera we’re doing,” _Signor_ Costa reminded them all. “It’s a shame we can’t do _The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh and the Maiden Fevroniya_.”

“There is an opera about our _city?_ ” Zorya exclaimed.

“We need thirteen singers to do it,” _Signor_ Costa said. “And it’s not a well-known piece outside of Russia. I don’t even think we own any copies of the music- I just know it exists.”

“Someday,” the junior Princess of Buyan swore. “It shall be seen in my father’s theater.”

Personally, Mariangela was disappointed that it wouldn’t be at all politic to do _Kaschei the Deathless._ That opera only required a tenor, a mezzo, a soprano, a baritone, a bass, and the chorus. They could have done that one, easily.

“I checked and we have the music and libretto for _The Snow Maiden_ and Dargomyzhsky’s _Rusalka_ on hand,” Basim told them. “But _The Snow Maiden_ has even more singing roles than _Kitezh and the Maiden Fevroniya_ , and _Rusalka_ requires a ballet and young girl.”

“We can’t find more singers unless we pull people from the chorus,” _Signor_ Costa said. “But we can find a young girl, and perhaps the Buyanov ceremonial dancers can fill in for the ballet.”

“Why do we have _Dargomyzhsky’s_?” Sabina asked, pulling a face.

“I like the idea of having a ballet at the end,” Evgeni told her. “I’ve always wanted to see it done, but it’s not very popular.”

“We’ll do _Rusalka_ in Kitezh,” Mariangela decided. “So that’s _Il diavolo di Martigny_ , _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ , and _Tosca_ in Cíbola; _Il diavolo_ and _Tosca_ in Takama-ga-hara, plus whatever Empress Wángmŭ wants me to write; and then _Il diavolo_ , _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ , and _Rusalka_ in Kitezh.”

 They did good business in Cíbola, first a night per performance at the High King’s Court, and then three-night runs of each of the three operas in the public theater. The biggest challenge was getting _Signor_ Costa to agree to _not_ sing. She and Sabina had had to gang up on him.

“You’re singing in every venue as the lead in _Il diavolo_ ,” Sabina told him. “ _And_ you’re Finn the good sorcerer in _Ruslan_. You hired Dario because his voice was too good to let go- have some good sense and let _him_ sing Mario Cavaradossi in _Tosca_ , and Marlon Spoletta. Rest your voice.”

“I’ll be writing you an important part in _The Emperor’s Contest of Romances_ ,” Mariangela said. She’d gotten the manuscript of the High Legend Empress Wángmŭ wanted to see on stage a few days before. “You’re going to be Emperor Huáng Lóng- the Yellow Dragon. Sabina is going to be Fenghuang, the Phoenix. So let Dario take _Tosca_ and _Rusalka_.”

“You’re doing too much,” Sabina picked up again. “You got _Il diavolo_ produced, you organized us coming to Honalee, _and_ you’re still managing things as we travel. Take a break. Pay attention to _Signora_ Costa for a bit.”

 _Signor_ Costa eventually gave in; and Mariangela spent the performances _not_ standing the wings or even watching, but working on _The Emperor’s Contest of Romances_. It was a rather nice story- the Yellow Dragon Emperor, who Mariangela gathered was either a god or some sort of allegorical figure, held a contest between the Phoenix, the White Tiger, and the Lion to see who could orchestrate the most unlikely love. Leutnant Costa was helpfully translating the story for her, delivering a couple new sections every day. This went smoothly but for one snag.

“I’ve got that White Tiger convinces Earth and Fire to fall in love to create mountains,” she told him, bringing the offending page along with her. “And Phoenix makes the mountains and the lightning fall in love to create the first people to win the contest. But what on _Earth-_ ”

She pointed to the pairs of untranslated symbols.

“-kind of relationship does Lion contrive to create lightning?”

“Sea and Sky,” Leutnant Costa told her without looking at the papers.

“So then _why,_ ” Mariangela said, exasperated. “Couldn’t you just _translate_ that?”

“Look,” he said, taking the papers and pointing to the symbols. There was one that was at the beginning of each pair, like a backwards ‘E’ with a triangle pointing to where the middle bar met the vertical. “This is the glyph for _‘King of Honalee’_. The first pair is the glyph-name that reads _‘Amphitrite’_ and the second is the one that reads _‘Nanshe’_.”

He paused.

“Well, that’s not _really_ true,” he amended. “Really they mean _‘King of Póli Thálassas and the Seas’_ , and _‘King of the Stars_ ’. It’s a literary convention, using the King’s glyph-names to represent their… I guess you’d call them attributes. So the Jagdsprinz’s one is used for justice, King Perun’s for storms, the High King of Chicomoztoc’s for light, Queen Nicnevin’s for dreams- you get the idea. Though I don’t know why you read _‘King of the Stars’_ as _‘Nanshe’_ and not _‘Ahes’._ I guess it’s because she was declared a witch by the Hunt and executed. Maybe _‘Nanshe’_ meant something in Charissian.”

“Okay,” Mariangela said. “But why didn’t you _translate_ it.”

“I’m getting there,” Leutnant Costa said mildly. “Because they’re the- hm- the official positions that the Kings occupy, kind of like how Nations are their own people but _also_ Nations, it’s rude to change it. More than rude, really- the closest I think I can come to the attitude the Honalenier have about it is that it’s _sacrilegious_. Kind of like a combination of desecration and blasphemy? It’s a hard sort of thing to convey. So that’s why I left it.”

“You should have put in a note or something, then.”

“Sorry, _Signora_ Ardovini.”

Empress Wángmŭ told them they could have as much time as they needed to rehearse _The Emperor’s Contest of Romances_ \- but in exchange, she had them put on _Der Erlkönig_ , _Il diavolo_ , _Ruslan and Lyudmila_ , **and** _Tosca_ , plus additional, individual pieces for evening entertainment at Court. It was a little exhausting; though the sheer enthusiasm of five-year Princess Chénguāng about the music alleviated things a little.

“It is a way to show her power,” Zorya had to explain to them. “Queen Nicnevin didn’t have enough money to put on more than three shows and a showcase night; but commissioned her own opera and then gave you the equipment and sets and costumes to take with you to show that she is generous. The High King of Chicomoztoc gave you everything for _Tosca_ , and then Cíbola put you up for nine nights in the _public_ theater- but neither of them asked for anything more. So Empress Wángmŭ shows her wealth and prestige by commissioning an opera, having you put on the four operas Honalee has already seen, having you sing evening entertainment, _and then_ paying for the sets and costumes- the most lavish of any opera Honalee has yet seen- for her commission and gifting them to you. Besides putting the ceremonial Court dancers at your service for use with your choir.”

“So the production in Kitezh is going to, by necessity, be even _more_ impressive?” Elena asked.

The Princess just sighed, a little glumly. She was probably thinking about her father’s treasury, Mariangela decided.

 _The Emperor’s Contest of Romances_ went on with all the promised splendor of costumes and set. It had been a little frustrating trying to include the Court dancers into the production, but Mariangela and the others had decided to view it as practice for _Rusalka_.

Transporting everything had turned into a major pain- they had five full sets, the entire costume wardrobe to go with those five sets, all the equipment an opera theater needed, all the stage hands, tech crew, choir, and singers- but eventually, the company managed to haul itself onto two large Kūnlún junks at the port at the mouth of the Celadon River, at the base of the Nysa canyon, and dock in Kitezh port.

King Kaschei Perun was delighted to discover that _Rusalka_ required a dance number- that meant he could match Empress Wángmŭ- and that Mariangela and _Signor_ Costa had chosen it knowing that the ballet would have to be modified or switched for something else altogether. They company’s singers got to see the _burya-vyrpat’tya_ dancers Zorya had told them about, and informed her they weren’t anything like ballerinas.

“They remind me of the traditional Persian dancers,” Basim said. “The ones that dance for weddings and New Year’s. The music isn’t at all the same, but the movement and the costumes are similar.”

“It’ll be distinctive to Kitezh and Buyan,” Evgeni said. “That’s not a bad thing. I like the swirling and they’ve got a lot of energy- I see what you meant, Princess, when you mentioned that they’re supposed to evoke weather conditions. I think the arm movements could be good for directing attention on stage.” 

“I think you’re right about that,” Mariangela told him, and decided that she’d just give the company directors the story and let them figure out their own choreography.

 _Der Erlkönig_ was performed the first night, and the King was quite pleased with Evgeni and Nosipho’s portrayal of him and his deceased wife. _Il diavolo_ went over similarly well, and then there was a two-day break final rehearsals for _Rusalka_ to properly incorporate the dancers and get used to the stage. A young girl was found to play Rusalochka, the daughter of Queen Natasha of the Rusalki and the human Prince who’d abandoned her, and everything was ready exactly on time.

Someone had apparently informed the Buyanov of the idea of a standing ovation, because they got one, along with accented shouts of _‘bravi!’_.

As the curtain call ended, King Perun stood from his seat and announced that he would be financing the construction of an opera house in Martinach city, until recently the Martigny of Mariangela’s first opera, to provide a _permanent_ home for the company.  

“That’s very nice of him and I suppose I like that he found a way to do better than everyone else without forcing us to come up with more things on the fly, like Empress Wángmŭ did,” _Signor_ Costa confided to her privately once they’d given their appropriate thanks to King Perun. “But I’m going home after all this is done. It was a nice tour, and staying at the Martinach Opera would mean I’m closer to most of my family- but I’m not leaving Venice alone.”

* * *

Heinrich had to resist the urge to swear when he got his sister’s letter a couple of days after the showing of _Rusalka_.

 ** _‘Apparently,’_** Nia had written to him. _‘Since Nicnevin and Cíbola and Wángmŭ and Kaschei got into a pissing contest over who could be the most impressive, **I’m** obligated- as First Among Kings, and all that- to upstage every one of them. I’m having my first state occasion in about three months, and I want you to put on _The Magic Flute _for the pre-dinner entertainment. The schedule will be the opera, dinner, and then a ball to follow. You, Adriana, Mariangela, and the principle company members are, of course, invited guests to the dinner and ball. Plan accordingly.’_

He immediately got paper and wrote a note back.

 _‘_ The Magic Flute _requires **twenty-two** singers **and** the chorus **and** impressive sets **and** detailed costumes and we don’t have the manpower! **Pick something else.** ’_

It was a testament to how fast the post-and-train system was that he got a reply by dinner.

 _‘No. I picked_ The Magic Flute _because it’s a very common production so it won’t be hard to find people for it. If you need to hire more people I can put out the advertisements and you can screen them here in Martinach.’_

Heinrich wrote his response just before bed and left it for the morning post.

 _‘Unless there’s an unemployed dramatic coloratura soprano drifting around loose somewhere- **which I doubt-** ’_ he told his sister. _‘We can’t do it._ The Magic Flute _requires the Queen of the Night.’_

 _‘Desislava Atanasov,’_ was the distinctly _smug_ reply that he got just before lunch the next day. _‘I know you know she can do it, she sung Leonora to your Manrico in_ Il trovatore _for **five** consecutive seasons in Stuttgart before you left for Venice and got engaged to Adriana. I like Adriana, Zell likes Adriana, Rémy likes Adriana- even _ Zio _Vino and_ Zio _Cris like Adriana. But dear Lord, Heinrich, we were all half-convinced you were secretly married to Desya and refused to tell us for some reason. I told her you needed help and dropped her commitments to sign on.’_

It had been so long since Nia had had an occasion to pull something like this on him that he had honestly forgotten she could be like this.

Heinrich hunted down another piece of paper, and on it very carefully printed:

**_‘YOU ASSHOLE’_ **

_‘All this proves is that I’m still better at giving insults than you,’_ he heard from Nia a couple hours later. _‘This is what you get for springing_ Il diavolo _on me. Have fun, I love you, I’ve given Desya guest quarters in the Jagdshall and she’s waiting for you to show up.’_

That, unfortunately, settled it; and he had to inform the company that they were being rather forcibly contracted for one final performance.

“So, _‘state occasion’_ means _what,_ exactly?” Aleš asked, after the company signers had gotten over the idea that they’d be sharing a stage with Desislava Atanasov.

“Honalenier royalty and nobility,” Heinrich told them. “Probably the same from Europe. The royal family of Liechtenstein, _at least_. Nia’s gotten to know them pretty well and our niece is married to the Hereditary Prince.”

“You’re related to _human_ royalty?” Nosipho asked. She’d heard the stories from the others about the big family reveal after the first night of _Il diavolo_ , and so didn’t sound that surprised. “Is there anything else we should know about you that you haven’t told us, _Signor_ Costa?”

“Not that I can think of right now,” he said. “But this will be royalty, nobility, heads of state, ambassadors, and an assortment of important people.”

“Important _rich_ people?” Elena asked. “The sort of rich that could, say, be convinced to donate to the construction and continued production of an opera house?”

“Yes, _that_ sort of rich.”

“Then let’s put on a _really good_ production of _The Magic Flute_ ,” Sabina said.

The company- which really needed a name, Heinrich reminded himself again, they couldn’t just call it ‘The Company’- came back to Nysa, and he went up to the Jagdshall to see his sister and meet Desya for the first time in a decade or so. She’d come to see him the first time he went back to doing opera after his children had grown up and moved out, but hadn’t managed to come since.

“I am _so_ disappointed I couldn’t make it for the first run of _Il diavolo di Martigny_ ,” she told him. “It sounds _fascinating;_ and you’ve gotten _quite_ the reputation, staging that and then going immediately to Honalee.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said. “It was a thank-you gift from one of my students and I wanted to see it staged.”

“He’s lying,” Nia told Desya. “It was blatant and unashamed emotional manipulation on his part.”

Heinrich elected to ignore his sister.

“With how much people in Honalee like it, I’m sure it will show at the Martinach Opera regularly,” he said.

“And yet I hear you are going back to Venice,” Desya told him, looping their arms so she could take him off to begin discussing hiring more singers and getting costumes and sets done. “I doubt it would be the same opera without _you_ singing the male lead.”

“I won’t _live_ here,” Heinrich said. “But if I have to spend a few weeks a year up here to sing as my parents, then I can do that.”

Together, they assigned the singers they had parts, and counted vacancies for two sopranos, two tenors, a treble, and a mezzo-soprano. It wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world to get opera singers in late August, but that was why they’d used company singers to fill the important roles. It took finagling, but by the end of September they had all their slots filled.

The sets came in in mid-October, and the costumes by the end of October. Heinrich, remembering his thoughts about the first production of _Ruslan and Lyudmila,_ had hired a set of people recommended to him by Nico and Luisa to provide magical effects- because what other opera could use magic effects more than _The Magic Flute_?

Well, the Ring cycle, perhaps, but Heinrich wasn’t about to suggest they go there.

November was nothing but a solid block of rehearsals. Most people knew the songs already, with how popular it was to stage this particular opera, but it was work to incorporate the magic effects, especially with all the steel scaffolding and components in the equipment. Things went better after the sorcerers got their heads around the fact that it just needed to _look_ real from the audience, not actually _do_ anything or _feel_ real to the people on stage. In fact, it was better if it felt a little _un_ real. Nothing good could come from scaring the singers.

The dress rehearsals were, in Heinrich’s opinion, magnificent. Desya agreed with him, and Mariangela was dazzled, and Adriana came up on stage at the end of the final rehearsal to give him a big hug and gently taunt Elena for ‘stealing’ her husband from her, as Pamina.

Heinrich felt that this was a good time to reveal his surprise, and pulled out the official program for the opera, scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, to show the company’s core singers.

“ _‘The **Ardovini** Opera Company’_?” Mariangela asked faintly.

“We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t written _Il diavolo_ ,” he told her. “And it would have been egotistical of me to name it after myself.”

The downside to putting on a popular opera was that everyone already had expectations for it, but Heinrich was hoping that between Desya and the actual magic, people would go away with a good impression.

It felt like they had, at the curtain call, so Heinrich resolved to put it out of his mind and go enjoy dinner with Adriana and Desya, and then the party afterward. At the dinner, the three of them were seated with Prince Ulrik and Marlies, who had their oldest son, Philipp, who was still in his toddler years but on good behavior for the dinner. Heinrich was pleased to meet his grand-nephew and get the family news he’d missed on out while in Honalee from Marlies.

The transition from dinner to the ball was gratifying, the way people kept coming up to say that they’d like the performance. Heinrich let Desya and Mariangela handle talking about the under-construction Martinach Opera and took Adriana out to dance. They came across a pleasant surprise out on the floor- Venice and Amphitrite were both in attendance as well, Venice instructing her in proper waltzing technique.

“Nia actually invited you?” he asked his father when they both took a break from dancing at the same time.

Venice smiled, wide and bright, in a way that made Heinrich’s heart go a little tight.

“She _did!_ ” he exclaimed happily. “ _I_ got an invitation and Amphitrite got an invitation and I mean we haven’t really spoken to each other tonight but she said _hello!_ And she didn’t sound like she didn’t want to say it at all!”

This was a cause for celebration, and so Heinrich excused himself, grabbed two of the small cups off of the refreshment table, and went looking for his sister. It took a bit of searching, because she had hidden on the small balcony landing of the large, impressive Great Hall staircase.

“Hiding from your guests?” he asked, handing over the glass after he’d sat down on the carpet next to her.

“Only a little,” she told him. “You did very well tonight.”

“Thank you,” he said. “And I saw _Babbo_ on the floor. You’re doing well, too.”

Nia looked at him a moment, then raised the small glass slightly.

“To our continued respective successes?” she suggested.

“To our continued successes,” Heinrich agreed, and clinked their glasses together. “ _Zum Wohl_.”

“ _Zum Wohl_.”

They downed the drinks.  

“ _Elti_?”

That was the wrong voice for that word, too high and young. Heinrich looked down at the young girl who’d appeared around Nia’s other side, head and upper body poking up under his sister’s arm to fall half across her lap.

“No alcohol for you, _Kätzchen_ ,” Nia told her. “Not until you’re older. There are laws.”

“And who is this?” Heinrich asked.

Nia grinned and put the glass down to scoop the girl up properly into her lap.

“Early Christmas present!” she said. “Why don’t you say _‘hallo’_ to your _Zio_ Heinz, Isolde?”

Isolde looked at him for a moment, then hid her face in Nia’s chest.

“She’s still a little shy,” his sister said fondly, hugging the girl tightly. The little one giggled a little, sound muffled by cloth. “C’mon, _Kätzchen_ , he’s nice. Usually.”

“Is there something you want to tell me, Nia?” Heinrich asked. “And here _you_ were, making comments about me and Desya- I’ve gotten a lot of practice watching two people trying to hide being having a thing together these last couple of months. Mosè and Zorya are not subtle at _all._ Who should I be watching?”

“It is absolutely not like that,” Nia retorted. “Your _Zio_ is curious about you, Isolde, maybe you should tell him what your name is.”

Isolde turned her head just enough so she could be heard clearly.

“ _Fürstentum Martinach_ ,” she said, then went back to hiding.

“ _‘Fürstentum Martinach’_ ,” Heinrich repeated, staring at Nia. “And she calls you _‘Elti’?_ ”

“Yeah,” Nia said. “She came like that. Apparently I’m _Vater des Vaterlandes_.”

“ _Elti_ ,” Martinach agreed, peeking out at him. “ _Der Prinz mein Fürst_.”

“Well,” Heinrich said. “ _Hallo_ then, Isolde.”

“I think it’s time for you to go, Isolde,” Nia told her. “I have to do adult things. I’ll be up later to say goodnight.”

Martinach whined for a bit, but eventually wiggled out of her _Elti_ ’s grasp to scramble up the stairs to the door that led to the Jagdsprinz’s apartments.

“She seems nice,” Heinrich remarked after she’d gone. “Good luck.”

“This one is the one that’s going to work,” his sister told him. “I’m Jagdsprinz and child of Nations. I _know_ how Nations work; and I’m-”

She swallowed.

“I’m her _boss,_ Heinz. But I could outlive her. The Hunt doesn’t need a human state to survive; but Fürstentum Martinach does. She’s likely to be stuck with me her entire life- but she’s going to be all right. I can’t stop her from getting sick, or her people being unhappy- but if I help it, she won’t go to war. And she won’t be under orders from me. I won’t do that to her.”

Nia shifted against the solid wall of the balcony railing.

“She’s going to be the one that works out,” she told him. “She’s a Nation, but she’s going to have a childhood. She’s going to grow into being herself and being a Nation at the same time. She’s not going to have one win out over the other, or never have time and space to work out who she is. She won’t be like _Vati_. She’s going to be happy.”

“I’m glad she has you,” Heinrich said. “I can’t think of a better person for a Nation to have for their _Elti_. And-”

He bumped their elbows together.

“ _Vati_ would be proud of you for this, too,” he told her. “For trying what you’re going to do, with her. And for saying ‘hello’ to _Babbo_ today and making him smile, even if you didn’t want to.”

“I know,” Nia said, leaning into him. “Thank you for reminding me. It helps.”

“We’re family,” Heinrich told her. “I’ll keep doing it as long as I can.”


	5. Isolde and Ivan

She could see snow on the ground, but there wasn’t any where she was, under the trees. The evergreens were too thick in this part of the forest for anything to have gotten through.

The road she could see, down below her, was also free of snow. What little had fallen for the beginning of the year had melted off the asphalt already. It was the early morning of 9 December 2083 and it was a Thursday and there was little traffic, she knew these things without having to do more than breathe, and she would be safe to cross the road to get to where she needed to be.

The side of the mountain was a little steep, here, and she got dirt on her white dress. She didn’t like that much; that or the way that stones poked her bare feet and the fragments of dead damp leaves stuck to her and got between her toes, but she could take care of that later. She knew where there was a stream. It would be cold, this time of year, but it was on her way and it was easy to get to.

By the time she got to the road side, there was a car coming, headed towards the city, so she stopped on the shoulder to let it go by. It almost did, but screeched to a stop only a few meters past her, pulled half off the road.

The driver got out; and he asked her something, looking alarmed.

She didn’t know the language, or why he was worried, and had to resort to staring at him, blankly. He wasn’t one of _hers,_ so she wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to do.

“Ah- ah-” the man fumbled, and then finally started to use French.

“Do you know your home?” he asked.

She frowned at him, puzzled. Of _course_ she knew her home.

“Where is home?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

That was easier. She wasn’t hurt, not at all, so she shook her head and pointed in the direction of the city. That was home, kind of. Most of it, anyway.

The man seemed happy with this, and gestured her towards the car.

“I’ll take you to the Gendarmerie,” he told her. “They’ll get you back to your parents.”

She only had one parent, she was pretty sure, and she already knew where to find them. But riding in a car could be better than walking, and maybe someone in the city would take her the rest of the way.

She got in the car and the man closed the door for her, and started driving.

“I’m Maarten Van De Vliert,” he said. She didn’t know why she needed to know this, but if he wanted to talk, he could talk.

The man had to look up where the Gendarmerie station was, but they got there and he opened her door for her and held her hand, even though she didn’t need that, and they went inside. The officer on duty was Méline Leclair, age 23, parents Michel and Nadine and Michel Leclair was from here but Nadine wasn’t she was from Geneva-

Méline was asking her things.

“Excuse me?” she asked in French. She could have asked in _Schriftdeutsch_ or _Schwyzerdütsch_ or Trade Creole, but Méline didn’t know either of the Germans and only a little Trade Creole; and asking in Trade Creole probably would have given the wrong impression. She wasn’t Honalenier or fey.

“Where are your parents?” Méline asked her again.

She thought about this for a moment, checking the bit inside that told her where things were and what was going on.

“ _Elti_ ’s up the mountain,” she told Méline. “Jagdsberg.”

She felt Méline think that this explained a lot; but she was _wrong_. She pushed a button on her desk and talked to someone on the other end, she didn’t know who.

“And what’s your name?” Méline asked as a Jager came into the lobby from the rooms in the rest of the station.

 _Finally,_ someone wanted to know.

“ _Principauté du Martigny_ ,” she informed Méline.

Méline, Van De Vliet, and the Jager stared at her. This was puzzling, because she _knew_ that Méline knew what she’d just told her, and Van De Vliet and the Jager clearly knew French, because Van De Vliet had spoken to her earlier in it and that’s what Méline had used to call the Jager.

She tried something different, anyway.

“ _Fürstentum Martinach_?”

That also got nothing, but she hadn’t really been expecting anything else from _Schriftdeutsch_.

But Trade Creole, that should get her somewhere- with the Jager, _at least._

She looked straight up into his eyes and said told him: “ _Eiáuo Razánzvo’úMártegvhanakht, Razanás Mártegvhanakht_.”

The Jager had the good sense to defer to her and apologize for not paying attention properly when she was speaking.

“ _Tschámiatam_ , _mágvhat Razanás_ ,” he muttered, ducking his head appropriately.

Things got unnecessarily complicated then, because Méline and the Jager both ran off to get the next people up their respective chains of command, and then _they_ argued, and more calls were made; and it was all very frustrating.

Martinach wanted her Prince. _Now._

She told the still wound-up officers this, in uncertain terms.

“Your _Prince_?” Émilien Desroschers the Gendarmerie officer, daughter Catherine still asleep and dreaming about searching from someone singing in a house-that-was-her-house-but-not-her-house where time and space didn’t make sense but she couldn’t be bothered to care because she was going to _smash_ whoever was making that noise and son Jourdain _not_ asleep but snuck out of the house to see Yann Foss Rodvinaskind the next neighborhood over which was a terrible idea they were going to get caught by Rodvina didn’t they know better than to think a huldra couldn’t hear them down the hall if they’d just been honest they wouldn’t end up being so embarrassed in a few moments, asked.

“ _Elti_ ,” Martinach told him. “Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor. My Prince.”

That was… a bit strange. There was part of her that said _she_ was King here, _she_ should be in charge; but it wasn’t her. It was definitely _Elti_.

It wouldn’t have been right if it _wasn’t Elti_.

“ _Our_ Prince.”

This caused another round of unnecessary fuss; and finally the Jager got in the car with her and Van De Vliet to go to the office of the _Président du Conseil_ , which was apparently where Van De Vliet had been going _before_ all this. Martinach went along with it because she knew that’s where her _Elti_ was now, too.

Van De Vliet and the Jager were _slow,_ and she didn’t need help going up the stairs or anything, so she ignored them when they called at her to _stop wait for us come back_ and kept going until she couldn’t hear them any longer and there was the _Président du Conseil_ ’s office, and she shoved the door open and there they were.

The _Président_ could wait, for just a minute. Her _Elti_ was surprised when she dashed across the room and gave her a pouncing hug, but she _did_ hug back, so that was okay.

“So _that’s_ what that was,” she heard her _Elti_ say quietly; and then louder: “And what’s your name?”

She looked up at the Jagdsprinz, feeling a momentary stab of concern. Her Prince didn’t _know?_

“ _Fürstentum Martinach_ ,” she said, because her _Elti_ spoke _Hochdeutsch_ -which wasn’t _really Schriftdeutsch,_ but it was _Elti_ , _she_ was allowed- and so using the closest she should get to _Elti_ ’s language was only polite; and then added: “ _Ich bin Ihre, mein Fürst_.”

Just in case.

 _Elti_ flinched like she was avoiding getting hit by something, eyes wide, and it _was not good_ the way that they flicked up and over to the _Président_ like she was expecting something terrible to happen-

Martinach turned around to glare at _Président_ Abel Perreault, brother Jean who was part-owner of one of the newer grocery stores that stocked Honalenier food right alongside the human, in case he was thinking about _doing_ something.

“Why are you looking at me?” he asked her _Elti_.

“Do you know what she just _said?_ ” _Elti_ demanded.

“Sure,” he said. “German’s a popular language around here, these days. Easier to get by with some than without some.”   

“ _Our_ Prince,” Martinach told him sternly.

“Of course, _Razanás_ Martinach,” he replied. “If she says you’re in charge, Jagdsprinz, then I don’t see how anyone can argue about it.”

“Oh, they _can_ argue about it!” _Elti_ said, and Martinach slipped off her lap to look at something interesting on Abel’s desks she’d missed seeing on the way in. “How do you think the General is going to react to finding out part of the VRG has gotten up and wants to walk away?”

“I imagine you’ll yell at each other until _Razanás_ Germanenlanden tells you both to shut up, Jagdsprinz, that’s how it happened _last_ time they were here.”

_“Monsieur Perreault-”_

Abel had to lift her up into his lap so she could see the table top properly.

“She’s being a little silly about this, isn’t she?” he whispered to her, and Martinach had to agree.

“I can _hear_ you,” _Elti_ complained.

The thing on the table top was _fun_. It was _her,_ scaled down, the rise of her mountains that enclosed her valley intimately familiar. It was interesting, seeing herself this way.

But the streets weren’t right; and the buildings were different.

“We’re redoing the city, _Razanás_ ,” Abel told her. “There are more people coming in than before, wanting to build buildings and buy houses and move in and do business, not just pass through and buy things like they used to do. We only had a few people, before, but now there’s enough that we need lots of new construction. And we’re not set up for it, so we’ve hired an urban planner and we’re going to make many more buildings and redo the streets so it’s easier to get around. We wouldn’t have thought to do it, but then Navin Technologies decided they were going to construct one of their monstrosities of a building here-”

“I _told_ Nico and Arik to tell them they weren’t going to be allowed to knock a block down!” _Elti_ interrupted tetchily. “I didn’t mean that I though _you_ should go around tearing down the whole _city_.”

“We’re not going to tear down the _whole_ city,” Abel said. “And for someone who’s skittish about being called _Fürst_ , Jagdsprinz, you’re awfully possessive of us.”

As _Elti_ made some noises of not-really-affronted denial, Martinach studied the model critically.

“It’s not big enough,” she informed him. “It needs to be bigger.”

“Well, this is just a model-”

 _“No,”_ she said. She _knew_ it was model; she didn’t mean it should be life-sized. _“Bigger. **More.** ”_

“ _‘More’_ how?” Abel asked.

Martinach thought about it for a moment.

“Jagdshall more,” she said. “Jagdsberg more.”

“You have a point,” Abel told her. “If we’re going to be the capital city of an entire Principality- and one with **_two_** _Razanásan_ , even, and one of them Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor- we should look suitably grand. Thank you for your input.”

“Abel-” _Elti_ started to say, sounding like she was making a point out of her patience, and it being tried.

“It’s no trouble to us as long as we have the money, Jagdsprinz,” Abel interrupted her. “Being a royal city won’t hurt. You’ll have to consult with _Monsieur_ Van De Vliet, though, about what having a Court in Jagdsberg will do to the flow of traffic and the services we’d need to grow or attract-”

“But you’re _upset,_ surely, that you’re _Président du Conseil_ and there’s the _rest_ of the _Conseil,_ and now you have a Nation but _I’m_ being declared _Fürst_ by her?”

“Jagdsprinz,” he said, his point of being patient much more genuine. “It used to be there was Martinach and Martigny. What my parents called _‘Martinach’_ because that’s what was in the treaty, I and my brother and friends grew up calling Jagdsberg, like it’s just another neighborhood of the city. The VRG had to rewrite the census to accommodate the number of Honalenier and fey we have here. The Dranse Markets are the focal points of the civic calendar; and your Jäger have just as much, if not _more_ authority than the Gendarmerie or Sûreté even outside the limits of the Markets. Even since before the VRG technically or officially existed, we had special administrative status. We’ve never _really_ been Germanenlandener- we were French-speaking Valais Swiss, and then we were French-speaking Martigner Swiss who happened to have to answer to the VRG. Now we’re French-speaking Martinacher Swiss.”

“I don’t want to steal anything from you,” _Elti_ said.

“This has been a long time coming, Jagdsprinz,” Abel told her. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it now, in hindsight. There’s something we have to take care of with this before we meet with _Monsieur_ Van De Vliet, though, isn’t there?”

“What?”

“ _Razanás_ Martinach needs a name, doesn’t she?” he asked. “Your sister gave me the same talk she gives everyone who ends up on the _Conseil,_ about how Nations work. She needs a human name to register at the UN, and for her friends and family to call her. A name for _her._ ”

“Another name?” Martinach asked, intrigued.

“Yep,” Abel said. “You get one all for your very own. It’s traditionally the finding Nation or the current person-in-charge to do, so the Jagdsprinz is going to give you one.”

She felt her _Elti_ sigh.

“What language do you want, _Kätzchen_?” she asked, and Martinach got warm and squiggly inside. _‘Kätzchen’_ , for the lion on her coat of arms; a pet name like Arik had been _‘Schattchen’_.  _Elti_ had said she was _family._

She was going to grow big and strong, with _Elti_ her Prince. A kitten now- a lioness later. There was a tightening in the back of her ribs at that thought that was distinctly _not_ squiggly, but hot and a little intoxicating; pressure kind of like she was engine, and this was the force that would move her. 

“German,” Martinach told her _Elti;_ because she’d told Méline that she was also _Principauté du Martigny_ , but that was just because French.

Her people spoke French, wouldn’t stop speaking French, but _Elti_ spoke _Hochdeutsch_. She would be _Fürstentum Martinach_ , her capital Martigny; a government that wrote in _Hochdeutsch_ for the Jäger and Trade Creole for the Honalenier and French for the humans; a people that spoke in French and Trade Creole and Jägerskovsk and _die_ _Drittedeutschen_ \- the Three Germans, _Schwyzerdütsch_ and _Hochdeutsch_ and the funny local mixture of both plus bits from everything else that was getting written in the Hunt’s adapted Trade Creole alphabet and called _Jagdsdeutsch_ and it wasn’t really a language _yet_ it was more of a sort-of-slang-not-really-a-dialect but she could _feel_ it happening-  and so she would have a German name.

She could feel her _Elti_ trying to think of something, the names running through her own head as _Elti_ thought of people she knew and names she’d heard, trying to think of one that hadn’t been taken and would still mean somethin-

_That._

That was emotion, powerful like the pressure behind her heart; and there was a happiness there, family and pride and the right sort of royal class and things fondly remembered made bittersweet because of the loss, right after.

 ** _That_** _one._  

Good things had come, after that loss. _She_ had come, because of it.

“ _Elti_ ,” Martinach said. “ _Elti_ \- Isolde.”

Her _Elti_ froze.

“You want Isolde?” she asked.

Isolde nodded.

“A surname, then,” _Elti_ said. “Mayb-”

“Beilschmidt,” Isolde said.

“Martinach-”

_“Isolde. Beilschmidt.”_

“Are you _sure?_ ” her _Elti_ asked. “People might think it looks bad.”

“You’re my _Elti_ ,” she said. “ _Arik_ got Beilschmidt.”

“Arik isn’t a Nation, _Kätzchen_. And your people speak French; shouldn’t you have something for them?”

“I am _Razanás_ ,” Isolde said, in French. “They love me. I know the Germans and the Trade Creole and French; and I will use whatever one they want. But I _am_ Isolde Beilschmidt, _Elti_.”

* * *

Ivan might have been King Russia in Honalee, but he wasn’t at the Jagdsprinz’s first state occasion on his own invitation. _Pavel_ had been the one to get it, and the traditional plus-one nature of these events had left him without any reason _not_ to have his uncle and technical-boss along. Ivan had learned to stop asking if his Pascha was going to have children or get married or even just look for a long-term relationship years ago, so it wasn’t like there was anyone else he could have brought.

And anyhow- Pavel’s invitation got Ivan in the door; but Ivan’s social capital was keeping them engaged.

The production of _The Magic Flute_ had been quite interesting and it had been a while since he’d seen an opera. _Signora_ Atanasov really was very good as the Queen of the Night, and he’d try to track her down at the party and tell her so.  

In the meantime, he and Pavel had diplomacy check-ins to do.

The first people to see were the UN diplomatic officers, of course. Gisela was still in charge in Martigny, by virtue of her seniority and a string of strongly-worded letters to the main offices a few years previously. She was staring down the average life expectancy age, yes- but _all_ that meant was that she had a wealth of experience and knowledge that she refused to deprive humanity of.

Ivan knew about those letters because they’d been sent right before Miervaldis had retired, and Miervaldis had shared both them and the rather hysterical message from David Mayfield, Miervaldis’ designated successor, begging the Secretariat not to pressure her to retire because the Department of Nations’ Affairs couldn’t _possibly_ manage without her influence- never mind that she didn’t _work_ in the Department any longer- and standing with the Nations themselves.

Miervaldis’ son Radoslav had sent a rather calmer letter from the Martigny diplomatic office pointing out that if the Secretariat tried to replace Gisela with anyone else, the decidedly un-republican, un-democratic Honalenier would find no issue closing most of the doors that had been somewhat reluctantly opened for the UN office in Martigny. They wouldn’t see Gisela’s ‘retirement’ as anything but deposition and her replacement as anyone but an usurper. One just did _not_ presume to tell a Princess, even one who was human and had no ability to inherit anything whatsoever, what to do.

Maria Gisela Costa Beilschmidt was, after all- Radoslav had quite reasonably continued- the daughter of Feliciano Costa, a Nation and somewhat of a crowned head of state; the sister of Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor, who officially managed Earth-Honalee relations and had quite dramatically demonstrated her position on the sanctity of international law; and the… step-daughter, perhaps it was best to say, of Empress and Queen Amphitrite Kataiis, who was unofficially the highest-ranked of the Kings of Honalee behind Ereshkigal, who didn’t quite count, and the Jagdsprinz, who was Ereshkigal’s official representative.

Radoslav Knežvić would only be the grandson of a rather undistinguished Nation, even if it was unofficially true that Gisela had picked him personally to take over for her once she died.

Ivan approved. From what he remembered of Honalee, politics of the Kings operated much the same as the royal and imperial politics of Earth had. Radoslav was shaping up to handle them deftly.

So he and Pavel went to see Gisela and Rémy and Radoslav, who was doing most of the talking this party, and Ivan made a note to himself to tell Raivis that his grandson was doing him proud, next meeting.

After the UN delegation, it was the circuit of Earth diplomats and attending heads of state. There were very few of the latter- really only Reigning Princess Anja of Liechtenstein, and her husband Andreas King of Denmark. They were, however, trailing an assortment of other European nobility. Just in their immediate area, Ivan could spot the Crown Prince of Spain, the Princess Royal of England and her brother the Duke of York, and the impressively-named Lothar Karl Maximillian Ferdinand Maria Habsburg-Lothingren-Hohenzollern Prinz von Preuβen, whose presence at least made sense. Lothar had bought up quite a bit of land in Forêt Fama near Martigny and the Jagdshall, owned an imports-exports business that operated on both sides of the Earth-Honalee border that was doing very well, and had absolutely no qualms whatsoever using every one of his completely defunct and politically worthless titles to impress in Honalee.

Ivan didn’t like him one bit.

“You have to be nice to him,” Pavel muttered to him as they approached. “He’s the second-biggest landowner in the area and the biggest civilian employer in the city and surrounding towns. When people talk about the _‘Martinach area’_ , they basically mean his sphere of operation. Zell said that even Navin Technologies moving in probably won’t knock him out of the top spot.”

“He is exactly the sort of arrogant petty noble we shot in the Revolution,” Ivan hissed back. “If he had been there I would have killed him myself. Two bullets- _bang, bang-_ no more head. No more problem.”

“How about you don’t say that sort of thing around the people with titles,” Pavel suggested. “And he has to have a good sense of integrity, or the Hunt would have done that for you already.”

“His parents are perfectly pleasant people,” Ivan grumbled. “Civic-minded and making something of themselves that were not titles. I do not understand how he ended up like this.”

This stop turned out tolerable only because Liechtenstein was standing attendance on her Reigning Princess and was perfectly willing to rescue Russia from the obnoxious presence of the pretender to the throne of Germany _and_ Prussia _and_ the ridiculous number of Habsburg holdings.

“Ulrik and Marlies don’t like him either,” she confided in him, leading him towards the bank of glass doors that made up the majority of the north wall, overlooking the small formal gardens behind the Court Gallery.

The Court Gallery was something else the Ivan could appreciate. It ran what he knew to be a significant portion of the length of the original demon-infested mansion, and the grand staircase at the east end, opposite the screened entrance, a story-and-a-quarter tall that led up to the private rooms on the second floor and incorporated the dais for the salvaged throne from the original Jagdshall.

Liechtenstein saw him looking at the dais-staircase.

“She’s not quite suited for it yet,” she told him. “The grandeur. It’s her father’s influence. But I think she’ll grow into it by the end of the century and get into the proper imperial spirit.”

“Is the trophy her revenge?” Ivan asked. If anyone knew, it would be Liesl. She and the Jagdsprinz had grown startling close. “On the grandeur.”

The staircase descended on either side of the second-story balcony overlooking the entire Court Gallery, terminating in two small landings, then joining again at the base of the alcove the separate staircases formed at either end of the dais, which had one large set of stairs leading to the floor.

The alcove held the skull and wings of the demon Mephistopheles, suspended with what Ivan suspected were wires, looking they had been taken off the demon yesterday and looming over the throne, rising behind it like an extension of the throne, the wings seeming to extend mantle-like to encompass the dais and the room itself. It was a very large, very morbid statement of power, that didn’t quite fit with the rest of the Court Gallery.

“No,” Liesl told him. “It made her feel better. It’s direct, and nobody likes looking at it very long. Which means that they won’t be looking at _her,_ when she’s sitting in her throne.”

Ivan also thought that, mixed with the proper level of casual confidence and nonchalant power, sitting there could be a bigger threat than anything the Jagdsprinz could say to someone.

The formal gardens were, as promised, small. They were also very unimpressive, especially after the Court Gallery. There were some trees and benches and a water feature, not a fountain but a pool filled by a natural spring which, Liesl told him, had been diverted into place by the Oreads. It was clean enough to drink from, which was novelty enough by itself, and also provided all the water for the gardens and the Jagdshall.

The plan had been to sit down on the stone basin edge and just be quiet together until they got too cold to be comfortable any longer, but this plan was unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of a small child.

 _“Who,”_ the little girl demanded in French. “Are _you?_ ”

Ivan looked her up and down indulgently. She had a fall of dark hair, maybe black, the lighting wasn’t good enough to tell; but her eyes were clearly blue. And she was… different, somehow. One of the fey Jäger children, likely.

“And who are you, small one?” he asked, drawing on his memories of Kansas schoolchildren.

“ _Fürstentum Martinach_ ,” she informed them, rather imperiously. “ _Why_ are you in my country?”       

Martinach?

_Martinach?_

Children-Nations were- well, the usual word was _‘special’_. But _‘opportunities’_ was probably a better word.

They were the opportunity for a new country. They were the opportunity for more self-determination in the world. They were the opportunity for a new currency, a new social system, a new government, a new set of laws. They were thousands and thousands of new beginnings, in ways great and small.

They were opportunities for thousands and thousands of endings, too, in ways good and bad. They could be the end of oppression or the end of a set of freedoms. They could be an end of peace, as countries fought to hold coherency; or the end of war as one side won out. The end of lives, the end of depression, the end of a political order, the end of a culture, the end of a social structure.

Everyone handled these end-beginnings differently. Some Nations held their _‘children’_ close until they smothered them; others kept them so far away that they died from abuse- war, genocide- or neglect- official unacknowledgement, a political blind eye. Still others did just the bare minimum, providing them with food and clothing and a place to sleep, with perhaps some sort of supervision; but otherwise ignoring them

Few- very, very few- truly fostered the children-Nations they found or inadvertently created, nudging them into growing up and becoming true countries of their own. Grown Nations were not exactly prime parenting material for this, despite the truly exceptional exceptions. Being found by humans, and staying with humans, was almost safer; but neither option was _good,_ and no matter what you did, there was no guarantee that they would either live or survive.

Relevant in this situation, though, was that the formation of a child-Nation meant that the _‘parent’_ Nation had divisions. They weren’t coherent. It was an opportunity to exploit.

So Ivan squashed down hard on the immediate rise of emotion he had, looking at little Martinach, not wanting to look too closely at if the pangs of protective instinct were Russia jumping at an opportunity to use a weakness of a neighboring political power to his own ends, or Ivan reacting to a small child who seemed in need of a home, of guidance and teaching, love and protection-

If there was _anyone_ who would give that, he told himself sternly, looking over to Liesl, it would be Liechtenstein. Martinach had named herself a Principality- and Liechtenstein was a Principality, a close neighbor and a good friend to the Hunt, who would be in the same position of being surrounded by a much larger, culturally- and linguistically-similar country.

It was not his place to get involved.

Liechtenstein looked just as surprised as he was at Martinach’s existence.

“We’re here for the party,” she told the child. “I’m Liechtenstein, and this is Russia.”

Martinach stared at them for a moment, then seemed to decide that they weren’t a threat.

“Okay,” she said, and tried to get up onto the basin between them. She wasn’t quite big enough or strong enough to do it yet, and Ivan had picked her up and sat her down before he’d particularly thought about doing it, automatic reactions left over from parenting his own child kicking in.

Martinach wriggled to get settled between them and then stopped, like she’d remembered something.

She looked up at him and said: “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” he told her. “Do you have a name yet, Martinach?”

She wrinkled her nose up frowning at him.

“You just _used_ it,” she said.

“Another name?” Liechtenstein prompted. “I’m Liesl Hohenheim Zürcher, as well.”

 _“Oh,”_ Martinach said. “Isolde Beilschmidt!”

 _That_ was- well, that was a surprising amount of hubris. He hadn’t thought that the Jagdsprinz was like that.

“ _Elti_ didn’t like it either,” Isolde started complaining, seeing their expressions. “She told me it would _look_ bad, and that I should be more _French_ ; but she’s my _Elti_ and we should have the same name!”

“I don’t know that word,” Ivan told Liesl.

“She means Nia,” she told him, sounding somewhat surprised. “She’s _Nia’s?_ ”

“ _Elti_ is the _best_ ,” Isolde said forcefully. “ _The **best.**_ If you don’t like _Elti_ I don’t like _you._ ”

“I like your _Elti_ just fine,” Liesl reassured her. “I’m just- I wasn’t expecting that of her.”

“She’s my _Prince!_ ” Martinach told her indignantly. “Of _course_ she’s my _Elti_!”

“Your Prince,” Liesl repeated flatly.

“Honalee does not have Nations, I thought,” Ivan said.

“It _definitely_ doesn’t,” Liechtenstein confirmed, looking alarmed. “Martinach?”

“Yes?”

“Are you _Martinach_ or _Martigny-_ ”  

“ _Martigny_ is just the _capital,_ ” Martinach told them. “From Jagdsberg to Forét de la Lui and Le Trient and Charrat! _Martinach_ is Evionnaz and Dorénaz and Fully and Saxon and Salvon and Finhaut and Martigny and Charrat and Sembrancher and Vollèges and Orsières and Liddes and Bourg-Saint-Pierre!”

That sounded like a lot of places, but Ivan didn’t know anything about this part of the world to know just how big that was. She could have been talking about all the major urban areas in the region or a cluster of tiny mountain villages around one rather small city with an absurd amount of self-governance, for all he knew.

He was going to ask Liechtenstein about it, but she shook her head at him before he could start to talk.

“I don’t know much about the French parts,” she told him. “Besides Geneva and Lausanne. I know about Martigny, a bit; and I’ve _heard_ people talk about Monthey and Sion, but she didn’t say anything about those.”

“You’re _ignoring_ me,” Isolde complained.

Ivan placed a hand on her head.

“You are small,” he told her. “Very young and very little. You do not have a proper country yet, and so you will be quiet while we talk.”

“I do _so_ have a proper country!”

“But you have been coming here for- what has it been, thirty years now?” he asked Liesl, ignoring Isolde.

“A little less than that,” Liesl told him. “But I’ve been coming _here,_ to the Jagdshall and the area around it. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been off the mountain, expect for the Dranse Markets.”

“ _There_ you are.”

Isolde lit up and slid off the basin.

“Arik, Arik!” she screeched delightedly, the way small children did when they got too excited to care about their volume. Ivan remembered that phenomenon well, but that didn’t mean he was glad to encounter it again.

The Jager called Arik- oh, _this_ must have been Nia’s son, he looked so much like Gilbert- put his hands on his hips and tried, unsuccessfully, to give the child bouncing around his feet a stern look.

“ _You’re_ supposed to be in bed,” he told her.

“But there’s _people,_ ” Isolde whined, lifting her arms to get picked up.

“Who you’re supposed to meet _later,_ ” Arik said, flipping her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“I don’t _want_ to go to bed,” she said, kicking her feet.

“Hey, stop that,” he told her, catching her legs.

_“Ride.”_

“Fine, fine,” Arik told her, and maneuvered her into sitting on his shoulders.

Isolde promptly leaned forward and covered his eyes with her hands, hugging his whole head and acting rather like a hat.

“Arik likes me _best,_ ” she confided, without any subtlety whatsoever, to Ivan and Liesl. “Even better than _Elti_.”

“Yep,” Arik agreed happily with her, trying to pry her hands away. “Just like _Elti_ always used to say, huh? C’mon, Isolde, let go.”

“No!”

“I have to take you to bed.”

“No!”

“ _Elti_ said I had to. Do you want to get your big brother in trouble?”

 Isolde heaved a huge, grumbling sigh and dropped her hands, flopping all over the top of his head. Arik had to grab her arms to keep her from sliding off.

“Arik,” Liesl said. “How serious is this?”

“Pretty serious,” he told her. “ _Président_ Perrault was very enthusiastic, and we haven’t been able to keep it _completely_ quiet because a visitor brought her to a police station. The city’s happy, and I think the further towns will be, too. It’s basically the Martinach area, so…”

That clarified things for Ivan; and it wasn’t necessarily a very good picture. The Martinach area was a rectangular area right in the corner of the country where the German, French, and Italian borders met. It sat right on top of one of the bigger Alpine passes, not particularly popular but still _useful_.  And it had all the business and growth of the last thirty years, in a part of the country that had less people total than Zürich- and most of them, now, migrated to the employment opportunities in Martigny, or commuting to the Martinach area, or working in jobs that relied on the developments in Martigny to function.

That must have been what Liesl knew of Martigny, too, because she very quietly, with unhappy understanding, said: _“Oh.”_

“Yeah,” Arik agreed. “The Jagdsprinz isn’t the happiest about; but you know what she’s like. It takes her _forever_ to take on more power.”

“It is not a bad trait, in a ruler,” Ivan told him.

“Maybe not, but it’s annoying,” Arik said. “Uh- don’t tell anybody, will you? Not until next UN meeting. _Elti_ ’s going to sort things out then.”

“Of course not,” Liesl promised for both of them, and Arik took Martinach off to bed.

“I need everything we have on the Martinach area, on my desk tomorrow,” Ivan told Pavel when he saw him again, about half an hour later.

Pavel looked confused.

“Why?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Russia told him. “ _Tomorrow_ , Pascha. As early in the morning as possible. I don’t care if you have to wake up the junior secretaries to get it done. I _need_ it.”

* * *

She’d gotten to dress up in her fancy clothes for this, the only of new things she’d hadn’t worn yet. There were her shiny black shoes, first, and then pants she’d picked out to match _Elti_ and a white shirt with ruffles and Arik had pulled her hair back with two rhinestone clips and she’d thought she looked very nice, but the people in this office looked _much_ nicer and a _lot_ more grown up than her, even if _Elti_ was outclassing them all in her uniform and they were clearly uneasy about it.

“No, I don’t know if I’m planning on joining the UN yet; we don’t know where the country would fall under the Tripartite Treaty!” _Elti_ was telling the man behind the desk. “We’d have to take _polls,_ and actually elect a government, and make a decision about the currency and the border laws and-”

“That’s, uh, yes sir, er, ma’am- uh- Your Highness-”

 _“Jagdsprinz,”_ _Elti_ told him, not quite sighing. “Or _‘sir’_ otherwise. Don’t you have a style manual around here somewhere?”

“Uh, maybe, sir, I’ve never actually seen one,” the man said. “I’m- I’ll just go get Director Mayfield for you, and you can talk to him.”

“I don’t _want_ to talk to Mayfield, I want to officially register this Nation as existing!”

“Well, sir, you do that after you have a country-”

“That’s not how my sister did things when _she_ was running this place!”

“We wouldn’t know, sir, they always have us interns run the outer office and I don’t know how much Director Galante had things changed from Director Beilschmidt’s time and a lot of us are new anyway; if you don’t want to talk to Director Mayfield maybe Mr. Schu-”

“No I absolutely do _not_ want to talk to _Mijnheer_ Schumacher!” _Elti_ interrupted. “We’ll just come back later. You might as well tell Mayfield I came by, I guess. Let’s go drop in on the meeting, Isolde.”

 She took _Elti_ ’s hand and they left for a different room, much bigger and with a _lot_ more people. She recognized Liechtenstein and Russia, and that was it. _Elti_ had said there was a meeting, but it didn’t look very much like a meeting right now. Everyone was out of their seats and talking to people, though people were noticing _Elti_ andstopping their conversations to watch her.

Isolde wasn’t sure she liked that many people looking at her, and decided to scoot behind _Elti_ until she’d figured it out.

“We need to have a talk, Germanenlanden,” _Elti_ said loudly; and people started talking again, now that they knew she wasn’t there for _them_.

A tall blonde man maneuvered his way out of the general crowd.

“When you say it like that,” he told _Elti_ tetchily. “It makes it sound like I did something _wrong._ ”

 _Elti_ looked him up and down, pointedly.

“You’re the most morally clean person in the room,” she told him, then stepped aside so Isolde was looking right up at him, before she was ready. She grabbed for _Elti_ ’s hand to keep her from going any further- she didn’t want to be alone with _all_ of these people. They were Kings, too, she could tell- a lot older, and with more power. Even this one, Germanenlanden, had more than her, and she knew he was young.

She also knew, very well, what Germanenlanden was to her. She needed to look strong and important to him, not like a child.

But she wasn’t going to let go of _Elti_ ’s hand. It was- they were standing together. _Elti_ was _helping_ her be safe from Germanenlanden.

“Besides Martinach,” _Elti_ continued, now that they’d seen each other long enough to have a sense of each other. “She’s only been around for about two weeks, though, so it’s not like she’s had a lot of opportunity.”

“Wow,” Germanenlanden said after a moment, and his expression- cleared up, maybe, Isolde thought it was. He’d looked sort of closed up and almost annoyed, but he wasn’t paying attention to _Elti_ any longer, only to her, and now he didn’t look like that at all. He seemed honestly interested in meeting her.

He sat down right on the floor in front of her, and he was a lot less scary like this.

“I’m Dietrich,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. When she took his, hesitantly, she found that his grip was carefully loose around her fingers.

“I’m Isolde,” she told him, figuring that if he wasn’t going to use his country’s name, she probably shouldn’t either.

“Cool,” he said. “So, where are you exactly? I kind of know, because I’m missing a corner of Valais, but I want to know where you say you are.”

“Evionnaz down to Martigny and back up to Saxon,” she told him, joining him on the floor. “And then from Martigny over to Sembrancher and down to the Republic of Northern Italy; and over to France.”

“Sounds about right,” Dietrich said. “You kind of cut off northwest Valais from the rest of it, though. We might just have to give that to you. Do you have the Hunt, Isolde, or have you got a sibling running around?”

Isolde frowned at him.

“ _Elti_ has the Hunt,” she said. “ _She’s_ Jagdsprinz. No one else can have it.”

“Well, there are an awful lot of humans in it now and they’ve got their own government,” Dietrich said. “I thought maybe you’d be part of that. So do you want northwest Valais?”

“You can’t just-” _Elti_ tried to interrupt.

“The area Isolde said and the area I don’t have any longer is like, four hundred square kilometers,” Dietrich said. “And most of it’s mountains. Giving you another hundred square kilometers or so with some industry isn’t going to hurt. I’ve got about half a million more of them. Would you rather have a war over it or something? The General’s probably going to lose his shit, but he does that about _everything_ with me.”

“He’s not being polite, don- I’d like it if you wouldn’t say things like that,” _Elti_ told her. Isolde tried to figure out which part of the _‘not being polite’_ she meant. Surely you were allowed to say when people weren’t being as good as they could be? That was _Elti_ ’s job, after all.

Maybe she just didn’t want other people passing judgement, since that was what _she_ was supposed to do.

“She’s going to learn it eventually,” Dietrich said to her _Elti_. “Anyway. Do you _not_ want a port on Lake Geneva and an oil refinery and a bunch of factories and another city or something? Because there hasn’t been a country yet that could survive entirely on service-sector jobs and you don’t really have any industry otherwise. It saves me a headache too, because the cantons don’t like me that much and trying to deal with one split into two pieces wouldn’t be any fun at all, and I figure the more _you’re_ there it’s a stabilizing influence, because they can get to you if they want a judgement on my government from the Hunt.”

“I’ve never met a Nation who wanted to _give up_ land,” _Elti_ said.

“That’s because the rest of them still think like empires, or that they have to take things from empires to get what they want,” Dietrich told her. “It’s not that I _want_ to give up land, it’s that I know it’s stupid to dump a whole bunch of resources into trying to keep or take someplace that doesn’t want me. I can use them a lot better somewhere, and get a solid neighbor on my borders to trade with, and be a good person, all at once. It’s like none of the rest of them have sat down and thought this sort of thing through! It’s always-”

He made a sweeping motion back at the other Nations, who’d moved far enough away from them that they couldn’t possibly be listening in.

“- _‘fight, fight, fight’_ , _‘destroy kill win’_ for these people. I don’t like how they work, they don’t understand how I think, and we get along _wonderfully._ ”

Dietrich was really a very expressive person, Isolde was learning. He liked hand gestures, and body language, and the faces he pulled while describing everyone else were kind of funny. And he wasn’t trying to get rid of her. He wanted to _give_ her things.

She thought maybe she liked Dietrich.

“Let me tell you something,” he said to her, leaning forward a little. Isolde scooted closer to him.

 “Life’s not a zero-sum game, okay?” he told her. “There’s enough of everything physical for everybody, and if people wouldn’t keep _fucking it up_ and trying to take everything for themselves and then _wasting_ most of it because they’re, I don’t know, afraid of dying if they don’t get enough or something; they’d see that. And anything that’s not physical, ideals and politics and rights and respect and all that, you can make more of that indefinitely, so don’t _ever_ try to tell people that there’s not enough or they can’t have it right now or people just wouldn’t stand for it. Money might be the exception, but money’s really weird and I don’t think I actually understand it. So keep a good budget. Probably you want to hire people to keep a good one for you, actually, and then let them try to explain it to you. Got it?”

Isolde thought about it for a minute.

“Maybe,” she said.

“Well you can always come back and ask again if you don’t remember part of it,” Dietrich said. “And in the meantime I’ll talk to my government and try to make them see that it’s worth it to get this whole thing done and over with without a whole bunch of fuss. If they complain too much all I have to do is tell them that _they_ got their country by insisting that a Nation’s word on who they say they are should be law, so it’s not like they can turn around and ignore what _you’re_ saying just because they don’t like it. And if they’re idiots and they do it _anyway_ I’ll just go tell people what hypocrites they are. Deal?”

Isolde looked up at _Elti_ , to make sure. If they broke this, she’d be in charge of fixing it.

 _Elti_ raised her eyebrows momentarily at her, and she could feel her trying to work out why she was being paid attention to again. It only took a couple of seconds, though, before she got it, so Isolde didn’t have to prompt her to give a little nod.

“Deal,” Isolde told him.

“Great,” Dietrich said. “Do you know when your announcement is going to be?”

“It’s out on the news tonight,” _Elti_ told him. “I expect it will be a big topic in the morning.”

“Then I’ll see what I can do about asking Monthey and that area if they want in on this,” Dietrich said. “It would only be polite and like I said, it keeps the whole region neatly sorted. Do either of you have any sort of idea whose going to end up in charge? Just important political leaders are fine, I ended up with Armas and Elke and Sophie in _my_ highest offices so if I know who’ll probably be important later-”

“ _Elti_ ’s my Prince,” Isolde told him.

“What?” he asked. “Really? You’re a monarchy?”

“I’m not sure you’d call it a monarchy if you never replace the person in charge,” _Elti_ said. “But if you need to talk to somebody, just do it through the usual channels. I have no idea how a constitution or anything like that is going to turn out.”

Isolde was pretty sure she knew. When they got home, she’d have to tell _Elti_ about them.

* * *

Just about the last thing Russia had expected, especially after seeing Germanenlanden get friendly with Martinach in the time before the meeting and the fact that Liechtenstein was a shoo-in for a political ally and friend, was to get a call from the woman in question asking him to come along with her the Jagdshall to help her teach the new Nation the important things in life.

“I started doing it because I didn’t think she’d have anyone else,” Liesl told him over the phone. “But then she told me Dietrich had shown up and told her things and said he was coming back, so I talked to him and now we’re doing it together.”

“Then surely,” he told her. “You don’t need me. I am not even anywhere near her.”

“But she knows you,” Liesl said. “She asks about how you’re doing. I think she likes you; and that Dietrich and I agree that you have things you can teach her that we can’t.”

“Oh.”

“She’s a Principality and I can tell her about royalty and high society and society politics, just like I did with Nia. And Dietrich is the youngest Nation we have _and_ the one she’s splitting from, so he’s telling her about regular politics and modern society and the plight of the common worker and- well, you know him. He’s kind of a communist.”

“No,” Ivan told her. “Dietrich is an inveterate socialist; one of the _new_ ones, who is also trying to solve every other social problem to be found on Earth. And so you want me to come tell her about how it is a terrible idea and she should be committed to finance capitalism with expensively corrupt elite banks.”

There was pause where he imagined she was giving the phone an affronted look.

“This conversation could continue nicely if you keep from insulting my economy like that.”

“It is not a lie, and no one has forgotten the tax haven scandal at the beginning of the century.”

“Maybe they haven’t,” Liesl said, tone cooler than before. “But no, that’s not why _we’d_ like you to come. She needs to know about how things can go badly, with a country, and you know a lot about that. If you want to tell her communism is evil while you’re at it, I’m not going to stop you.”

“And what if I don’t _want_ to relive my failures to a child?” he asked, leaning back in his chair so he could see Pavel in the outer office. He waved a little to get his attention, and made the gesture that told his nephew to hold work and other people for him for a bit. Pavel got up and shut the door between them.

“There are other things you can cover,” she told him. “I can tell her a lot about economic theory and Dietrich has technology and service-sector jobs covered, but neither of us are particularly well-versed in the industrial part of things. You know about that. And I’m sure you can think of other things, or we’ll come up with things as we get into talking to her.”

“If I have time,” Ivan said. “I suppose I will come, just to see. When are you and Dietrich going next?”

“We’re doing every Sunday afternoon, so pick whichever one you like.”

For a number of weeks, he didn’t go. Sometimes he had things to do, sometimes he wanted time to himself, sometimes he just didn’t care. But once spring came around, and he took a good look at the latest political polls- he didn’t want to be around, for a bit.

He told himself that he was going to Martinach to ask about the situation of their diplomatic corps. And he _did_ go to the Hunt’s External Affairs Department, after he’d looked up the organizational structure and determined where the offices were. He was a little surprised to see Arik was in charge there, since he’d been under the impression that the Jagdsprinz’s son ran all of her espionage- what little of it there was, and most of _that_ still just recycled information from other sources- but Arik seemed a lot more surprised to see him.

“I don’t _think_ we’ll be running Martinach’s diplomatic corps,” Arik told him after Ivan had asked about it. “The Hunt isn’t the same government as the Jägerskov, so I don’t see why we’d be the same government as Martinach. We just happen to share a sovereign. Isolde’s not the Hunt, after all, even if she’s got some fey subjects and some of the biologically-human Jäger think of themselves as Martinacher, so I don’t see how the Jagdsprinz could justify sharing our systems to _that_ extent.”

That sounded like a major headache to Ivan. He was glad he didn’t have to deal with that, and speculating about the mess the Jagdsprinz’s two, probably-soon-to-be three _entirely separate_ bureaucracies must be sustained him until he found Liechtenstein and Germanenlanden and Martinach on the edge of the garden, where it faded out of the forest.

He was slotted into the lesson- part lecture, part conversation, today on European history in the first part of the 2000s- easier than he’d thought he would be, and Martinach _did_ seem very happy to see him.

It was a pleasant afternoon, and he came again the next week.

And then the week after, and the week after-

He found himself doing more work on Fridays or Saturdays, or putting things off and doing more on Mondays, to go. He went for his groceries at a different time, and started taking lunch and sometimes dinner actually _at_ the Jagdshall, he and Dietrich added to what had been a semi-regular occasion between the Jagdsprinz and Liechtenstein. The lessons became his favorite part of the week; and escape from what he could feel starting to come on in Russia and was praying would go away before it was properly born. The lessons could be frustrating, sometimes, or it would be clear that Isolde didn’t really _get_ what they were saying, but experience would fix that.

It was at one of the dinners, some months after he’d started coming, that he realized one of the things they’d been trying to prepare her for, but hadn’t quite worked up to telling her explicitly about-they maybe _shouldn’t_ push too hard.

They had finished eating, and Nia and Dietrich had been talking about the meeting they had to go to in the morning, one of the many in the process to get Martinach established as an autonomous country, when Nia’s head whipped around, and they all followed to movement and saw Isolde, who had used some rocks to get up into a tree and was in the middle of testing the weight tolerance of the lowest-lying branch.

 ** _“Isolde!”_** Nia yelled. _“Get **do-** ”_

Ivan _saw_ her stop herself halfway through the final word, snapping her mouth shut and clenching her jaw to keep it that way, the sharp, rather angry inhale she took clearly audible.

 _“I don’t want you up there!”_ she yelled instead. _“You’re going to get yourself hurt!”_

 _“ **Arik** doesn’t mind!” _Isolde yelled back.

_“Well then he and I are going to have **words;** but will you **please** get down from that tree! We **do not** do **anything** with the trees unless we’ve gotten permission from the huldrene **first!** ”_

That was clearly enough for Isolde, because she got down from the tree very quickly after that.

But Ivan was stuck with, for the rest of the night up to and including lying in bed at home and staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, the moment of bitter happiness of knowing that _somewhere,_ there was a Nation would seemed like they would live without ever knowing what it was like to be under orders from a boss; not even casually, in the little commands to _go to that meeting already sit down bring me that folder go home be quiet go get some coffee or something calm down just don’t worry about it you never saw that_.

* * *

People kept telling Isolde that she was growing up fast but she didn’t really think so, the children in Jagdsberg and downtown were growing probably twice as fast as her and she wasn’t sure she liked that, but they couldn’t help it and neither could she.

She was very nearly two years old and Arik was taking her to lessons and she had to try hard not to bounce in her seat in the tram, even though taking it was so _new_ and _exciting,_ because there were other people around and rocking the bench wouldn’t make them very happy.

Isolde really, really liked taking the tram. It was one of the features that Van Der Vliet had put in for the new city construction, as part of the streets plan, which had the tramways and the trolleybuses and enough space on either side for horses and bikes and pedestrians and cars and trucks, but things had been designed so there weren’t so many of those last two and really they were for commercial purposes like wholesale deliveries or moving equipment. The trolleybuses were mostly for the valley floor and the city center and the tramways went further, up into the mountains, and Jagdsberg had a stop at Sebastianhaus and you could take that line straight through downtown Martigny and hook up to the S-Bahn- which would, someday, take you all over Martinach but right _now_ had only just opened the elevated rail lines on the valley floors so you could go from Martigny to Port-Valais or Saxon or Vollèges- or to the regular trains which could take you _anywhere_ in Europe; and one day Isolde would get on the tram at Sebastianhaus and take the train all the way to Stuttgart for a meeting, because she would be big enough and old enough to do political things by herself and no one could tell her _not_ to take the train.

Martigny was construction construction construction and it worked because _Elti_ had money to donate and Navin Technologies and Lokar Imports were very much into projects they could declare _‘for the public good’_ \- or at least Navin Technologies was, and Lokar Imports was determined to do better than them. It could be kind of annoying but it meant things got built, and coming from Monthey or Charrat or anywhere else north of Martingy it wasn’t _nearly_ as hard as it had been to get to Combarigny, the district of the city right next to the Jagdsberg where the _Fürstsrat_ and the _Conseil d’État_ had their buildings, now that the main corridor through Croix and Sant-Bernard was finished.  

Combarigny wasn’t really Isolde’s favorite part of the city, but she almost _had_ to go, nowadays, to see her _Elti. Elti_ seemed like she was _always_ down in Combarigny meeting with the _Président_ _d’État_ and the other executive department directors, or talking to the _Fürstsrat_ as they tried to figure out exactly how an executive semi-absolute monarchy was supposed to work. In theory it was simple- _Elti_ appointed the executive directors to the _Conseil d’État_ , and the people elected her _Fürstsrat_ , a representative from each town or city who met with the _Président d’État_ and anyone else as necessary to report on the state of the Principality and suggest and submit drafts of laws for _Elti_ ’s approval, which she could ask them to change or sign to make them legally binding. _Elti_ didn’t _have_ to listen to them at all, and that political balance of princely authority and modern democratic sensibilities was what they were working out, because the only way to counter something _Elti_ did as Prince of Martinach was a referendum in the Swiss tradition, a full direct democracy vote of the people against whatever law she’d made- and then _Elti_ could override _that_ if she had reason to speak against it as Jagdsprinz.

It all made sense to _her,_ and Isolde was tired of people getting all turned around and confused about it and submitting their diplomatic paperwork to the wrong offices and not looking at the explanatory hierarchy charts. It worked because _Elti_ was Jagdsprinz and people trusted her, and because she was a mixed Honalenier-human state so it couldn’t be _completely_ an absolute monarchy without making a lot of people upset but it also couldn’t _not_ mostly be an absolute monarchy without making the _other_ people upset.

If she had to explain it to Dietrich and Liesl and Ivan _one more time-_

“Hey,” Arik said, nudging her. “C’mon _Kätzchen,_ we’re here.”

On Saturdays she went to the Kascheian Opera House to have lessons from _Maestra_ Desya about Art; and Sunday afternoons she had lessons with Dietrich and Liesl and Ivan about Earth things; and then on Mondays Arik took her to Kūnlún and she learned academic things from Master Chetanpa with Princess Chénguāng; and Tuesdays she stayed in Jagdsberg and Lady von Rothbart taught her about Honalee society and politics. Today was Wednesday, which meant she and Arik were at Ms. Walker-Kirkland’s house in Combarigny on the Ruisseau de Cergeneux for the weekly classes she taught on magic, using the theory she’d developed with _Signor_ Zaubleutant Agresta and the Correspondence Circle and the things they’d learned from their individual experimentation and the Hunt’s Workshop.

Ms. Walker-Kirkland’s lessons were Isolde’s favorite, because Ms. Walker-Kirkland wasn’t all hung-up on linguistic propriety the way Master Chetanpa was. The first time she’d had to submit a written paper to him, the sphinx had looked at the Martinach Trade Creole she’d done it in with contemptuous distaste and said: “Well that’s rather… _vulgar._ The literary and academic standard is _Kuberan,_ _Razanás Mártegvhanakht_ , and you will please use it as such.”

Isolde had felt deeply insulted by this and told him, as primly as she could, that she didn’t _know_ any Kuberan, and then wrote everything else she had to turn into him in French until _Elti_ found out and asked her to stop. Master Chetanpa didn’t know any French.

 _Chénguāng_ had thought it was funny, so now Isolde was teaching _her_ French. Isolde could read and write in Kuberan, now, enough to make Master Chetanpa happy because _Elti_ had had Lady von Rothbart start teaching it to her and Chénguāng was helping out.

Lady von Rothbart was also, unofficially, teaching them Ztoca.

“Chetanpa Ajitya is a very good scholar, but he has no idea what he’s talking about,” she’d told them. “Kuberan might still be the _‘literary standard’_ , but in the years when there wasn’t a Hunt _other_ people did perfectly good things in languages that _weren’t_ that. There’s a wonderful corpus of Tylwyth poetry and heroic song now, Buyan’s literary epics are getting all sorts of famous now that they’re experimenting with theater and performative dance and opera, all the good Honalee science comes out of Chicomoztoc, and the Germanified Trade Creole in the Jägerskov and Martinach is a _government_ language now, not just for business; and it’s going to become the new standard for the Trade Creole and what Earth-Honalee politics and any study of magic are done in for _decades_ to come, if not permanently. So write in whatever you want. The days of Kuberan dominance are _over._ ”

Ms. Walker-Kirkland thought like Lady von Rothbart did, which probably wasn’t surprising since they were friends. Ms. Walker-Kirkland taught in French and the Martinach-standard Trade Creole, so Isolde understood her perfectly; and she got to see her friend Mariheidis here and sometimes Arik would take them to get pastries after class.    

Wednesday afternoons was only for the children- Ms. Walker-Kirkland taught just about _anybody_  who wanted to learn, whether they had any ability to use magic or not. The schedule on the ground floor of the house, that she used as the school, listed times and days for adult, young adult, and child theory classes, the same divisions with a practicum section, and a class specifically on technomancy, which she actually co-taught with someone from Navin Technologies as part of their corporate development training. Isolde only came to the children’s theory class, because she could practice at home the Workshop.

Arik dropped her off and wandered back into the semi-private dining room, where Ms. Walker-Kirkland hosted Jäger from the Workshop when they came to ask questions or talk, to do his paperwork; and Isolde went into the classroom. It had eight tables seating two for a class size of sixteen at the most, but the children’s theory class had about ten.

Mariheidis was already here, with her black book out. Ms. Walker-Kirkland gave you those herself as part of taking a course- they were small notebooks, of the size to fit into a large coat pocket or a purse or pouch or bag, a little thick and bound in black leather. They were specially made from somewhere, because Ms. Walker-Kirkland had the first left blank, but the second page was printed with the Jagdsprinz’s Pact and the third with a simple decorative border. She hadn’t told anyone what went there yet, but Isolde had kind of an idea.

She’d written her glyph-name there, carefully with one of Master Chetanpa’s calligraphy pens. _Elti_ ’s glyph-name was on the page with the Jagdsprinz’s Pact, the symbol for King accompanied by a simplified version of the Hunt’s usual stylized Horned Helm; here a simple triangle, pointing down, for the head and two short inward-leaning lines at the top for the antlers.

Isolde had taken a look at the coat of arms of Martigny, and thought about it, and decided that hers was a hexagon, point-down, for the lion’s face, imposed over an upside-down ‘T’ for the hammer it held. She wasn’t really sure if she was _allowed_ to make her own glyph-name, but nobody had told her she couldn’t and it _felt right;_ which as Ms. Walker-Kirkland kept telling them, meant they were doing it properly.

Mariheidis was certainly kind of jealous about it, and she’d lightly penciled in _‘MARПHEПƋПS RПKSTAΣSKПΣƋ’,_ and then below it _‘Mariheidis Rikstanskind’_ on the same page in her book, since she wasn’t a _Razanás_ and didn’t get a glyph-name.

“But once I’m done with lessons and I’ve learned how to write fancy,” she’d told Isolde. “I’ll do it in pen, like yours _._ ”

Isolde was wondering what they’d cover today- they’d used the fourth page to take notes on the basics of magic, who could use it and the different only-sort-of official classifications; the fifth page was the parts of a soul; and page six was the Laws of Magic. There was the Law of Preconception, which Ms. Walker-Kirkland had discovered, that said it really, _really_ mattered how and what you thought about magic that made it work. That was the first one they’d been taught, coupled with the Law of Determination, which was that once you’d identified you had a preconception, it was possible to change or modify it. Then there was the Law of Resolutes, which said that there were certain things that it didn’t _matter_ what you thought about them- they still worked the same for everyone. The Law of Contagion was kind of related to that, because a piece of something stayed pretty resolute about continuing to be a part of that thing.

Maybe they’d get another Law today. There was still plenty of room left on this page.

Ms. Walker-Kirkland started the lesson with: “At the beginning of this class, I gave you a short list of the different _‘types’_ of magic.”

She started writing them- _Blood, Soul, Folk, Water, Weather, Earth, Glamour-_ on the board she kept for this purpose as she continued to talk.

“Some of these are unteachable- either you can do them, or you can’t. It’s something you’re born with or without. Not all of them are very well-defined yet, but they _do_ all work differently. Does anyone know we make these divisions?”

“By what you’re working with,” someone said.

“A little bit,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland replied.

“By the _ways_ you’re working with them, too,” Mariheidis said. She was very smart- the smartest person in the class, Isolde thought. “For some of them it’s just what you’re working with and some of them it’s _how_ you do it and some of them it’s both.”

“Better,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland said. “For instance- blood magic is the easiest to use, and anyone can do it. It’s quite powerful and can be used for most of the things it’s possible to use magic _for;_ the limit being how much you can be hurt before you die _._ Since you have to be physically hurt to use it, you’ll find that most of the human and Honalenier examples are about death curses in battle, or assassinations. Glamour magic, however, is an inborn talent of the Tylwyth Teg and their fey children. Anyone else who attempts to do it has to have an _enormous_ amount of power at their disposal- to our knowledge more than what you could get by killing yourself. A talent for glamour magic is also completely useless for doing anything else with, much like weather magic, which is why we pair them together like _this_.”

She pointed at the way she’d written out the types of magic. Weather and Glamour were written next to each other, then Water and Earth under that, and Blood and Soul under that.

“Weather and glamour magic are unteachable, so they form the opposite end of the scale as blood magic- which almost doesn’t _need_ to be taught- and soul magic, which is… _difficult,_ and somewhat instinctual. It’s a primal sort of magic to work, like blood magic is, and the most you need to know about it right now is that blood and soul magic often go hand-in-hand, as with the Wild Hunt; and that it’s the basis for Nations.”

Well that was _vitally_ important. Isolde drew a box around that in her notes and told herself she’d ask Ms. Walker-Kirkland about it after class; and _Elti_ and _Signor_ Zaubleutnant Agresta when she got home.

“Water and earth magic are the ones that are somewhat hard to define,” their teacher continued. “Because there are aspects of them that are inborn and unteachable; but others that can be accomplished with blood magic, or much more commonly-”

She pointed at _‘Folk’_ , which had been written on the board off to the side of everything else.

“-folk magic; what humans, fey, Seelenkind, and Nations commonly use; and with which we are concerned in this class.”

Ms. Walker-Kirkland picked a differently-colored marker, but didn’t start writing immediately. Instead, she stood facing them.

“I give you this brief overview,” she said. “Which we will eventually explore in more detail, because before we go into talking about and exploring our preconceptions to determine what sort of affinities you’ll be working with in your own magic, we have to talk about the Resolutes. We’ll be spending two classes on this, so start thinking about what sorts of concepts you associate with different things- we’ll be talking about them by the end of the month. Today, though, we will be discussing the Kings of Honalee.”

Isolde felt like she was very prepared for this lesson already.

“The Kings of Honalee derive their power from investiture by Ereshkigal- from whom, conventional wisdom holds, all magic comes. Ereshkigal divides Honalee into the Kingdoms we know and appoints- or, such as in the cases of Amphitrite Kataiis, King Andvari, and the first King of the Tylwyth Teg, confirms- someone to rule the area. With the position comes power; and this is the power that we need to be mindful of when doing folk magic.”

She returned to the board and started writing down the glyph-names. The class copied them into their books; and Isolde added her name at the end of Ms. Walker-Kirkland’s list.

“Each King has dominion over an attribute. Usually, these magical attributes- or domains, they mean the same here- are shared naturally among their biological subjects. When doing folk magic, you will sometimes end up crossing into these attributes. This requires extra mindfulness and caution, lest you accidentally overstep your bounds and take on power that is meant solely for the King. A good example is using magic to unfreeze your pipes in the winter- you won’t make Amphitrite mad with that. But if you redirect a river or block off a natural harbor with magic- then you’ve gone too far. The edges of what counts and what doesn’t are still being worked out, so for now the best guideline I can give you is _‘smaller is better’_.”

She finished writing the glyph-names and turned back to the class.

“Now,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland said. “Can anyone read these?”

Isolde could, of course, but _Elti_ and _Signor_ Zaubleutnant Agresta and Lord Hiruz had had talks with her about being polite when she was in classes with others. She might _look_ like she was eight or nine while _actually_ being two years old, but she knew enough, just from existing, for someone twice or three times her age. She should give the children the opportunity to do their own learning and not dominate a classroom.

Mariheidis, Isolde sometimes thought, hadn’t been told this. Mariheidis also knew all the glyph-names, and Ms. Walker-Kirkland let her tell the rest of the class.

“Ereshkigal,” Mariheidis started reciting from the top of the list. “Jagdsprinz, Nanshe, Amphitrite, Xī Wángmŭ, Andvari, Rāvaṇa, Despoina, Illmarinen, Runakachi, Kaschei, Nahoaikaika, Nicnevin.”

“Very good, Mariheidis,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland said; and Isolde thought: _‘and Martinach’._

“Now, each of these has a resolute attribute,” their teacher continued. “Some of these attributes are so specific you will never have anything to do with them, but you need to know them anyway. Some are obvious; others not so much. A few of them get very abstract and it’s fine if you don’t understand- usually us researching adults don’t completely get them either.”

The class followed, once more, as she started to write on the board, listing the attributes next to the names.

“ _‘Ereshkigal’_ is structure,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland told them. “This is very broad and we’re working on defining it better. Ereshkigal domination structure is why, we think, transfiguration magic is almost unheard of outside of natural shape-shifting. Besides applying to natural structures, like laws of physics, it also applies to _social_ structures. If you mess too much with either, chances are good that you will get a visit from the Jagdsprinz.”

She tapped the next glyph-name.

“ _‘Jagsdprinz’_ is, surprisingly, the hardest to pin down. It’s not easily summed up in one word. For now, know that it’s something like justice and something like protection. Things get simpler from here: _‘Nanshe’_ is stars, _‘Amphitrite’_ is water, _‘Xī Wángmŭ’_ is prosperity, _‘Andvari’_ is safe-keeping, and _‘Rāvaṇa’_ is knowledge. _‘Despoina’_ is one you’re probably not going to use, because it’s horses. _‘Illmarinen’_ is production, another one of the abstracts. _‘Runakachi’_ is light, _‘Kaschei’_ is air, _‘Möngkedai Khan’_ is luck, _‘Nahoaikaika’_ is natural fruitfulness, and _‘Nicnevin’_ , as you probably have already guessed, is…?”

“Illusions!” someone called.

“Exactly,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland said. “There are some people who think that dreams should be included in that, but _I_ personally think that that’s more of an affinity, which we’ll be dealing with next week. The Kings’ resolutes are fixed, since they’re given by Ereshkigal; but their affinities are entirely subjective-”

Isolde tuned out of the lecture from there on, wondering what _her_ resolute would be. It would be Martinach, wouldn’t it- but what exactly did that _mean?_ Was it the people? The land?

She thought _Elti_ would probably have strong opinions about someone having magical control over all of her people. _She_ had strong opinions about it just _thinking_ of the possibility- she wanted to go out and find whoever would even _think_ about doing it even a _little_ seriously and kick them until they stopped, tell _Elti_ and give whoever-it-was to _her_ and the Hunt to get rid of-

Maybe there was a good reason Nations didn’t have glyph-names.

But you used them, writing in any of the Honalenier scripts. She’d been writing out _‘Razánzvo’úMártegvhanakht’_ on the papers she had to write for Master Chetanpa and Lady von Rothbart, but it felt kind of… demeaning. Maybe she wasn’t a King like _Elti_ was King, or even like Venice was a King; but Nations were supposed to be Kings, as well. She had a _right_ to glyph-name. They _all_ did; her and Liesl and Ivan and Dietrich and all the ones she’d never even met.

Just, maybe- maybe they shouldn’t look too hard at what their resolutes would be.

* * *

“This is not what I signed up for, Liesl,” Ivan told her after the children had left.

“What, getting glyph-names?” Dietrich asked. “I think that was nice of Isolde. The next time someone from immigration needs me to look over something about the Honalenier expats, I’m going to sign it with mine and see how everyone reacts.”

“You’re terrible, Dietrich,” Liesl said.

“Only sometimes.”

“I meant,” Ivan said. “With the children. Martinach, yes- she needs Nation teachers. Mentors, more like, now that she has some years to her. But these others- it is not why I came.”

“Philipp and Erik’s father did this too,” Liesl said. “And if Xī Wángmŭ is willing to share her daughter to see what an Earth education can be like, I’m not going to complain. New relations are good relations.”

“They are foreign royalty.”

“Well so are we,” Dietrich said. “To Chénguāng, anyway. I think I’m going to have to ask her to teach me Kūlún. It sounded interesting.”

“But _you’re_ the one teaching _her,_ Dietrich,” Liesl told him, a hint of reprimand in her voice.

“So?” he asked. “Why can’t we learn together? It’s _work_ trying to seem like you know everything, and _lies_ besides. I can teach her German in return, they use German here a lot.”

“It won’t be the _right-_ ”

“You think I don’t know _Schwyzerdütsch,_ Liesl?” he cut her off. “It comes with the territory.”

Someone _really_ needed to take Dietrich in hand, sometimes, and every so often Ivan wondered if Liesl hadn’t prodded him into coming to teach Martinach to teach _Dietrich_ something, too.

“That was unnecessary, Germanenlanden,” he said.

“What?” Dietrich said, but Ivan had been spending at least an afternoon a week with him for four years now and they socialized at the UN and sometimes just because they had free time and didn’t want to spend it alone, and knew better. Dietrich knew _exactly_ what he’d done.

He stared the younger Nation down until the other looked away.

“Sorry, Liesl,” Dietrich said. “I shouldn’t talk about your brother like that.”

“You’re absolutely right, you shouldn’t,” Liechtenstein told him, and started ignoring him. Ivan was used to this, by now. That’s just what she did when she got angry or upset at someone to keep from yelling at them, or something worse. “How are Yakov and his children doing, Ivan? If _I_ had children, I don’t think I would have trusted Navin Technologies with their lives like that.”

“He is an adult now, and it was his choice,” Ivan said. “I would not trust _Cassiel_ Navin with his life, or the lives of my great-grandchildren; but I have some trust in the rest of the board and the project managers that Yakov has been working with. True, there is not much space yet on Mars, and if something goes wrong, there will be no immediate help, but-”

He had a moment’s pause while he wondered if this was appropriate to share with another Nation, but it wasn’t like other people didn’t have international political news.

“-I am glad they are no longer in Russia.”

The nice thing about Liesl, especially in comparison to Dietrich, was that she was old. Not as old as him, but old enough to have grown up with court manners and accrued a wealth of life experience, the sort that Nations had, that meant she knew when she shouldn’t or didn’t have to say anything and just _understood._

“But I thought things were going well with you,” Dietrich said, ruining the moment of understanding a little. Ivan reminded himself that Dietrich was only _just_ about to reach forty, and that in another sixty or seventy years he’d be behaving the way Nations expected when they interacted with each other. He just needed some more socialization.

“The Russian Reform Party was voted out of office, and now it has fallen apart,” he told Dietrich. “I am not sure I can trust their replacements.”

“Oh, the General was talking about that,” Dietrich said. “I thought he was overreacting- because, y’know, _history._ ”

“Prussia knows _very_ well the circumstances and ideas that can lead to a bad government,” Ivan told him sternly. “Listen to him, next time.”

“I’d rather ask you,” Dietrich said. “The General’s a fucking asshole.”

“And if you spent less time with the Southern Italian Republic, he might like your manners more,” Liesl said.

“Better him than Venice; for everybody.”

This was undoubtedly true.

“And the only time I’ve heard them _really_ talk nicely to each other was after the Civil War, when they were both worked up about the Hunt and the Camorra,” Dietrich continued. “And _that_ was just because Venice was too worried about the Jagdsprinz to be mad at the General.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Liesl said. “How _are_ you handling that now that Venice is a country all on its own again?”

“Venice sends somebody, same way somebody gets sent for the Hunt or Martinach,” Dietrich told her. “We don’t talk. Just because we share a border doesn’t mean we’re going to be _friends,_ suddenly, even though it worked out between you and me.”

What?

“We’re _friends?_ ” Liesl asked incredulously, staring at him.

“Uh…”

Dietrich started to trail off, seeing the surprise of the other two.

Ivan, personally, had no idea why Dietrich had thought that was an appropriate thing to just _say,_ suddenly. Being _friends_ while a Nation, _with_ another Nation, that was-

“Well _I_ thought we were,” Dietrich said. “Are we… not?”

 _“Germanenlanden,”_ Liechtenstein half-snapped. So _that_ was what she was like when ignoring people didn’t work. “You killed my brother by _existing._ You are surrounding my country and my people. If you chose to think that I should not exist, there would be _very_ little I could do about it. I would _die._ We are _not_ friends; and I while this situation lasts we shall _never_ be friends. We may be political allies, we may be good work acquaintances- but _friends_ implies some sort of equal footing, which simply _does not_ exist between us.”

At least Dietrich had learned _something_ from today, because Ivan could see him bite back the reply he’d been about to give.

“I’m sorry about your brother and that you feel threatened, Liechtenstein,” he said instead. “But I’m not going to apologize for existing; and I’m not going to try to destroy you.”

“You can’t just _promise_ that sort of thing!” she said furiously, then tried to compose herself.

“Liesl?” Ivan asked.

“I- we are not fit company for each other right now,” she told Dietrich. “Ivan, _I_ am sorry that I’m leaving you like this, but I will see you both next week.”

Dietrich started sulking a little in his chair as Liesl left.

“You’re going to tell me all the ways I messed up, aren’t you?” he asked Ivan.

“No,” Ivan said. “You clearly know them already if you thought to say that.”

They were quiet for a little while, and Ivan was trying to convince himself to get up and go back home when Dietrich spoke again.

“ _We’re_ friends,” he said hesitantly. “Right?”

Russia did not sigh, because he was trying to demonstrate emotional reserve to Germanenlanden.

“Why would you say that?” he asked instead.

“Because we know each other pretty well,” Dietrich said. “And we’re teaching Isolde together. We talk outside of work and you come to my apartment and we do things in Stuttgart and I go to your house and we do things in Moscow and St. Petersburg. I like being around you and I’m pretty sure you like being around me so that makes us friends, right?”

There had been an answer Russia was going to give him; about how you couldn’t trust people or politics and Nations inevitably ended up in conflict with each other and Nation-Nation relationships were _work_ , you always had to pick up the pieces after war or major international incident and there was a certain mindset you needed about forgiving and sometimes half-forgetting and this was why you couldn’t just _say_ you were friends with another Nations, friends were _serious_ and if you had to ask you weren’t-

But then Dietrich had said _‘I like being around you’_ and his thought process just… short-circuited.

People did not _like_ being around him. They put up with him. They played nice and then they ran the hell away as soon as they could. They fought. They undermined. They betrayed. He’d given up trying to be overtly friendly decades ago, because it actually made people trust him _less._ They always thought he was scheming for something, when he tried to be friendly.

Ivan had always lived in envy of the Nations who could just naturally pick up friends, or more realistically friendly acquaintances, in the other Nations, even when everyone knew what they’d done- Venice, Belgium, Spain, Seychelles, India.

But Dietrich said _‘I like being around you’_ like it wasn’t anything particularly striking.

Ivan couldn’t remember the last time another Nation had genuinely wanted to be around him, at least one who wasn’t Natalya or Yekateryna, and hearing this now tied his tongue up in knots.

“I-”

He couldn’t let this go. He couldn’t mess this up _he was going to mess this up-_

“Yes, Dietrich,” Ivan said. “We’re friends.”  

And Dietrich smiled at him, relieved, and Ivan never wanted to go home; where there would be politics to fuck up everything and international meetings to go to where everyone would just be _waiting_ for him to lose it.

* * *

She was _five_ today; **_five_** _whole years old,_ and she was having a party.

Mariheidis was there, of course; and there were Philipp and Erik and Chénguāng. She’d had to get Mariheidis to _talk_ to the other ones, because the human-culture part of her wasn’t sure how to handle young princes and the Honalenier-culture part of her was not at all ready to put her on familiar terms with the daughter of Xī Wángmŭ but Isolde had managed it eventually and now they were all enjoying themselves.

There were adults too, because everybody else she knew were adults so there was _Elti_ and Arik who was playing with her friends as one of the Hunt’s Hounds and Dietrich and Liesl were talking to each other and Lady von Rothbart and _Maestra_ Desya were talking about opera because apparently they thought opera was the best thing in the _whole world_ and _Tante_ Zell and _Onkel_ Rémy were here too, talking with _Elti_ , and Émilie and Mäelle who were seventeen and fourteen and probably, Isolde thought, better off not being here because they were too old for her friends but too young for the adults, but they were family and _Tante_ Zell had insisted so here they were. She kind of wanted to keep the two of them company because they were some of _her_ people besides being her second cousins and she knew Émilie was really interested in the Hunt and she could tell her things; but she had to wait.

Because _Ivan_ still wasn’t here, which was _unacceptable,_ because Ivan had been the one to plan her party in the _first_ place.

Well, being completely fair, _Elti_ and Arik had been planning on doing one before he’d asked about it, but she’d seen that thinking about her birthday party made Ivan happy so _she’d_ asked _Elti_ to let him help and _Elti_ was proud of her for being thoughtful and kind and that was nice, but also Ivan needed to smile more and whenever he had a big talking part in her lessons it was always about something _terrible_ that had happened to him and he should have nice things, too.

She actually wasn’t really sure what sort of things adults thought of as _‘nice things’_. Liesl had lots and lots of nice dresses, so clothes probably counted. Dietrich was insistent about _‘proper’_ coffee and going to back to the places he’d told her about, where he’d had his _‘education_ ’, so he could check in on everyone he knew, so add coffee and travel? _Elti-_ well Arik said that all the things _Elti_ really wanted nobody could get her, so Isolde had decided she’d just try to love _Elti,_ really _really_ hard, which wasn’t that difficult but she didn’t really know what else she could give _Elti_ that she didn’t already, if she couldn’t take her _Konsmass_ coins to the market or order something off the Internet. So probably, for _Elti, ‘nice things’_ meant memories and that was what Isolde was going to try to give Ivan.

Besides the flowers. She also knew he liked flowers, and those were easy to find, she’d gone into the Jägerskov and the huldrene had helped her find some nice ones and then she’d bought some other ones in Martigny and this was part of her thank-you gift to Ivan for teaching her things. She’d figure out something for Liesl and Dietrich later.

But Ivan wasn’t _here_ yet.

 _Elti_ scooped her up from behind.

“You’re awfully fidgety today, _Kätzchen_ ,” she said. “You don’t want to go play with your friends?”

“I’m waiting for Ivan, _Elti,_ ” Isolde told her. “He’s not _here_ yet.”

“He’s only a little late,” _Elti_ assured her. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Where do you want to put your flowers?”

“They’re not _my_ flowers, _Elti_ , they’re for Ivan. He likes flowers.”

“Oh, so you’re giving _other_ people presents on your birthday, huh? You have anything for me?”

Isolde thought about it a second and wriggled until she could hug _Elti_ around her neck without smushing Ivan’s flowers and gave her a little kiss.

“I love you _Elti_ ,” she said. “You’re _best._ You do a really good job being my Prince and my people like you too even when you think maybe you’re going to make them angry or upset and if the other humans or the other Honalenier don’t like how you’ve changed things then they can be upset because _we_ like you and _I_ like you and it’s working out and I’m glad you’re Jagdsprinz too because it means I get to keep you _forever_.”

There were nice things about making _Elti_ happy, and one of them was the way she hugged back tightly, but the nicest one was the way Isolde could feel _Elti_ getting happy, like there was a sun rising in her chest and warming her heart up.

“I love you too, _Kätzchen_ ,” _Elti_ said. “And look who showed up.”

 _Elti_ put her down so Isolde could dash over to Ivan. He-

Why had he brought people with him? She didn’t know these people.

Ivan smiled down at her, with that twist his mouth always had, and picked her up. Ivan was so big and strong he could just pick her up with his hands on her waist. _Elti_ had to support her on her hip and use her arms to prop her up.

“I got you flowers!” she said, shoving them at Ivan’s face so he could smell them.

“Thank you,” Ivan told her. “But it is _your_ birthday.”

“But I don’t know when yours _is,_ ” Isolde told him. “And it’s to say _‘thank you’_ for teaching me and helping _Elti_ and Arik with the party.” 

“It was not a very difficult thing to do, _solnyshka_.”

The woman with him took the flowers from her and told him something in Russian. It sounded happy, and she was smiling even though she looked like she might cry.

“Is she okay?” Isolde asked Ivan.

“She is just very, very happy.”

“But _why?_ ”

“Because of you,” the woman told her, and- oh, _Elti_ knew who this was, she was thinking about it talking to the man Ivan had brought, his nephew, this was Ukraine- Ukraine really _was_ getting teary.

Why should she be doing that?

“Thank you?” Isolde said uncertainly.

“You’re friends with him and it’s just so _wonderful,_ ” Ukraine continued. “He’s- Vanya’s just never had very good luck with friends and now he’s got _four_ of them-”

Her emotions got the better of her at that point and she flung her arms around both of them.

“Yes, very well, Katyusha,” Ivan said, patting her back, and Isolde very nearly kept herself from giggling. Ivan was _embarrassed!_

“I have to go thank Liechtenstein,” she said, pulling back. “And Germanenlanden, and the Jagdsprinz after she stops talking to Pascha-”

“You really don’t have to,” Ivan tried to tell her, still clearly embarrassed, but Ukraine had already headed off to talk to Liesl and Dietrich.

“Thank _me?_ ” _Elti_ said. “Why would she need to thank _me?_ ”

Isolde turned her head so she was looking at _Elti_ and told her: “Because you’re Ivan’s friend too!”

 _Elti_ was confused by this, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

“You and Dietrich and Liesl and Ivan are all friends,” Isolde told her, because maybe she just hadn’t thought about it yet. “They’re here all the time and they’re teaching me things and you let them watch me and you have dinner together a lot, almost as much as you do with _Tante_ Zell and _Onkel_ Rémy, and I know you’ve noticed that you and Dietrich can have a conversation and you don’t really think of _Groβvati_ when you do it anymore.”

“Isolde,” Ivan murmured to her as she felt _Elti_ getting knotted up and prickly inside and realized maybe she shouldn’t have said the last part. “It is not polite to announce the things you can feel from people in front of others.”

She crunched up on herself the best she could in his grasp.

“Sorry, _Elti_.”

“You don’t?” Pavel asked her _Elti._ “You should tell Zell, Nia, she’d be really happy to hear it. And you might consider telling Dietrich, too. _He’d_ definitely be happy.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s noticed,” _Elti_ muttered. “And- about Dietrich, Ivan-”

“Yes?”

“You do realize,” she said, staying quiet. “That he’s got a crush on your sister?”

Everybody else looked over at Ukraine and Dietrich, so Isolde looked too. They didn’t _seem_ like anything different was going on.

“I had been wondering,” Ivan replied, also quiet. “How could you tell?”

“That’s- the smile he’s got,” _Elti_ said, and Isolde could feel her reluctance. “ _Vati_ used to look at Venice like that.”

“Maybe don’t tell him _that,_ ” Pavel told her.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Isolde tugged on Ivan’s shirt so he’d pay attention to her again.

“What, _solnyshka_?”

“Why did you bring him?” she asked, pointing to Pavel.

“Ah!” Ivan said, voice going back to normal volume as he brightened up considerably. “It is part of your presents!”

Oh, that _was_ exciting!

_“Presents?”_

“Yes,” he told her, putting her up on his shoulders. He knew how much she liked sitting there on people, and because he was so tall she could see over _everything_. “There is a regular present that you will open later, that is for Isolde; but Pavel is for Martinach.”

Isolde frowned down at the top of his head.

“You can’t give people as presents,” she reminded him, bouncing her heel lightly off his chest.

“Naturally,” Ivan agreed. “But I have asked him to take a leave from my employ and come assist you! You are young, and your _Elti_ has had some difficulties with finding enough good people for your diplomatic corps. Pavel can help.”

This was true, Isolde reflected. Martinach _did_ have a problem with having enough diplomats. It was hard to attract human ones, and the Honalenier ones were probably never going to get used to dealing with a government rather than a Nation. There was one of the grown up fey children from a pairing that had happened in the early years of the Hunt being in Martigny, and _he_ was doing wonderfully, but there was only one of him.

“But I thought you said that Pavel really liked working for you,” Isolde said.

“Well, he does,” Ivan told her. “But Russia is not all there is to the world and it would do him good to leave for a while. He was worked for me for so long that it might become bad for his health. You could use his experience. Everyone wins.”

This was also true, but Isolde only knew it because she could hear _Elti_ thinking that Ivan was phrasing things very deliberately to keep from actually lying to her. There was subtext here and Isolde didn’t get what it was because _Elti_ wasn’t going to tell her and had noticed her noticing what she was thinking and gently started hiding the rest of the thoughts.

Clearly, _Elti_ wanted to have an Adult Conversation, the sort that she told Isolde she’d get _actual centuries_ of once she got older; so Isolde got Ivan to put her down and she left so they could get on with it.

She’d find out what they were talking about eventually, if it was important.

* * *

Ivan couldn’t remember having any particular expectations of 2089, but seeing Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Poland, the Czech Republic, and Slovakia stand up in the meeting, Latvia speaking for all of them as he announced of the formation of the Balto-Slavonic Democratic Republic, to take place later this year, had definitely not been on the list.

“But _why?_ ” Hungary asked Poland, looking at him aghast, no doubt thinking of the strong history of independence the man had.

His compatriots glanced at Russia, nervously, trying to hide it; and Ivan kept a carefully closed expression. He didn’t want to hear this again.

“We can’t compete,” Feliks told his old friend. “And it’s kinda like, the way to go now, y’know? We’ve got _him-_ ”

He pointed to Dietrich.

“-on our west and _him-_ ”

Now it was to Ivan; and yes, it was going to be all the old reasons.

“-on our east. They’re bigger than us when we’re separate and if we don’t join forces like, _right now,_ we’re gonna lose it. It’s _totally_ a drag to lose some sovereignty but we’ve already got the economic section from when the EU fractured? So it’s kinda like, why the hell not? Plus _those_ two are getting all buddy-buddy and we’re just like: guys, we’re _totally_ in the way, stop that, for _serious,_ we haven’t forgotten _shit._ ”

Dietrich pulled his _‘I’m not Ludwig you bastard’_  face and combined it with his _‘how dare you think that of me, get over here and say that to my face you asshole my morals are better than that’_ face. Feliks was distinctly unaffected and glared right back.

Glumly, Ivan reflected that if he could figure _that_ out, he and Dietrich _were_ probably just as close as Poland feared.

“It is strictly personal,” he said. “No politics.”

“Yeah, well,” Feliks said. “You’ll _totally_ understand if we don’t believe you.”

“You people have some _serious_ fucking trust issues, you know that?” Dietrich demanded.

Would the child not shoot his mouth off for _once-_

“If _you_ had any sense, you wouldn’t trust Russia right now, either,” the Czech Republic told him. “Haven’t you been paying _attention?_ ”

Ivan had not thought he’d ever want Luka Pajari back; but right now, he did. People had _trusted_ him under Pajari.

But that was forty years and five governments ago. The Russian Reform Party had been chased out and fallen apart. He could feel himself- not _himself_ himself, he _would not_ let that happen again; but the government, the country- slipping back to all the things Pajari had promised him he wouldn’t let Russia be.

 _Those_ promises had been kept, as best he could.

“Yeah, I’ve been _paying attention,_ ” Dietrich snapped back at her. “More than _you,_ clearly, because otherwise you’d know _Ivan doesn’t want that._ ”

The room turned to stare at them.

“He calls you _Ivan?_ ” America demanded. _“Dude.”_

“And you say you’re not political allies,” Slovakia scoffed.

“ _Why_ is it so hard for you people to understand that we **_can._** _Have. **Friends?**_ ” Dietrich demanded, and the meeting started to degenerate into what Ivan had come to think of as the standard generational argument, Dietrich against the world.

It was a very strange feeling, thinking of Nations as having generations; but it was something to focus on that wasn’t listening to the things they were saying about him.

* * *

The plan hadn’t been for Isolde for continuing going to Ms. Walker-Kirkland’s classes after she’d learned the magic basics, but Mariheidis was still going and Isolde hadn’t wanted to stop having time with her and so _Elti_ had let her keep coming. Now it was mostly practicum, everybody testing out their affinities and keeping notes and it all worked out because Ms. Walker-Kirkland would ask her a bunch of questions for Science sometimes and would help her with her magic, because it was kind of different from everyone else’s besides being a _lot_ stronger. She’d explained it to everyone when asked that because Isolde was Martinach her magic didn’t come from _her,_ really- she was drawing on _all_ of her people, so she had a lot bigger pool to work with and no, it didn’t hurt anyone because Isolde’s body would die from being destroyed for magic before she could kill any of her people, if for some reason she ever got in a situation where she had to use _that_ much.

Ms. Walker-Kirkland had told her later that the only thing she could think of where that would happen was if she had to fight off a powerful demon, or another King who was coming at her magically. Isolde _really_ didn’t want that to happen.

But today, Ms. Walker-Kirkland had them sit at their desks and take their notebooks out just like they had when they were in the lowest theory class- and then she let _Signor_ Zaubleutnant Agresta take her spot at the front of the classroom.

This… wasn’t right.

 “Ms. Walker-Kirkland?” a voice asked.

“Zaubleutnant Agresta is going to give you the lesson today, class,” was all that she said.

“The Hunt has decided that a review of section of the Jagdsprinz’s Pact covering the lawful usage of magic is in order,” Zaubleutnant Agresta told them. “If you’d tear out a blank page of your books, please- today’s notes should be kept just behind the Pact.”

Mariheidis raised her hand, but didn’t really wait to be called on. She just took Zaubleutnant Agresta noticing her as enough permission.

“Zaubleutnant, this is about what happened with Cassiel Navin, right?”

Isolde didn’t actually know what had happened with Cassiel Navin. He’d been in town for something big and official at the company building, they’d invited _Elti,_ and all she knew from there was feeling _Elti_ ’s pure _rage_ from across town; and later seeing the clip of her pulling her gun on him and Cassiel magicking himself away before she’d managed to do anything about it. There had probably been more to that, but Arik had taken the tablet before she could go look at the article underneath it and find out why _Elti_ and he and Zaubleutnant Agresta and Offizier Héderváry from the stables had gone away so suddenly and come back so grim.

No one would tell her what had happened with Cassiel Navin. Clearly he’d done something _wrong,_ but-

“Yes, this is about Cassiel Navin,” Zaubleutnant Agresta said.

Isolde raised her hand, but Zaubleutnant Agresta deliberately ignored her.

She was going to be six this year and that was nothing for a human but it was _something_ for a Nation; she was a _King of Honalee_ and she should _not_ have to stand for this-

“If you don’t know what happened with him,” he told the class. “When you go home, you should ask your parents. Title your page _‘On What Makes A Witch’-_ ”

* * *

No one had invited him, but he’d come anyway.

It wasn’t like they had any _reason_ to invite him- you usually didn’t invite the Nation you were allying against to come to the treaty signing, after all.

But the Balto-Slavonic Democratic Republic was about to become his newest neighbor, and Ivan was… morbidly interested in the outcome of this treaty, Nationally-speaking. It didn’t seem like there would be a new Nation born to take over from the others, given that no one had produced one yet and he hadn’t heard a word of anything like that during his visits to Martinach, so it was likely one of the already-existing Nations.

The only assurance he had was that it wouldn’t be Kyonig, because Kyonig had refused to join the BSDR. She was here, and glaring at the corner where he’d not-really hidden himself. She might have actually been invited, but Ivan doubted it, a little. She’d taken a little longer to grow into the same sort of political mindset Dietrich had, given that she hadn’t had four years without a Nation’s responsibilities to formulate her own, largely uninfluenced opinions, and didn’t get along with the other Nations any better than _he_ did.

The fact that Nadja and Dietrich held such similar views whispered to Russia of the beginnings of a larger shift of global politics. They were about the same age, and the combination of rather different life experiences and a clash of personalities that might sort itself out in a century or two, if both of them lived that long was a good indication that it wasn’t coincidence.

He would have compared Nadja and Dietrich to Isolde, but Isolde was quite young yet for a Nation to have a solid conception of the Nation’s thought process and opinions as opposed to her own. Granted, having Nia as her Prince and her parent had made her aware of the distinction from her very first day of existence, but that didn’t mean she’d quite grasped it yet. Some days, Ivan thought that maybe she would _never_ understand the difference- not the way everyone else did. She had grown up with more knowledge about Nations than any other new Nation in history, she had never and probably _would_ never be under orders, and- this was the strangest part, for him- she honestly and full-heartedly thought of herself as a King of Honalee and fully expected to have every power, privilege, and responsibility that came with. Dietrich was having thoughts in that direction because of exposure, but he would never look at his people and feel entitled to their obedience.

Ivan _hoped_ Dietrich would never look at his people and feel entitled to their obedience. Maybe humanity was _meant_ to have turned out like Honalee, with the Nations and the Jagdsprinz’s Pact, but benevolently-intentioned neglect on the part of the Erlkönig had ensured it never would now. He had had a frequent companion in Boreas of Kitezh, later General Winter, now again a Jager, which meant he had closer contact with Honalee than just about any other Nation; but he had never been used to the idea of being a King in his own right and he doubted the others ever quite would be, either.

At least Nia had the sense, as Jagdsprinz, to let Earth continue on mostly as it had been doing and not try to _‘correct’_ what her predecessor had inadvertently wrought.

The Jagdsprinz hadn’t been invited either, but there she was loitering in the corner of the room given over to the Nations for the time just before the treaty signing. The humans hadn’t necessarily realized the fact that there were going to be dead Nations at the end of this, but tradition and a modicum of emotional awareness had granted them their privacy.

Nia saw him looking at her and- didn’t really smile, but the corners of her mouth lifted up. They had mutually given into Isolde’s insistence that they were friends after the young Nation’s birthday party; and if they had been mutually a little nonplussed about the whole thing, well…

Ivan was nine hundred and thirty-two years old now that it was 2089, and Nia was seventy-five; he was a Nation, and she Jagdsprinz. Both of them, barring catastrophe, should survive for centuries to come. The day would probably even come when Nia had seen more years and more of humanity than he ever would, and Ivan didn’t think the other Nations were thinking like that. Dietrich he could understand, but Liesl should have known a little better.

Nia had stopped counting as human, and subject to the usual rules about how Nations involved themselves with humans, the day he’d watched her kill Venice and bring him back on the floor in the UN building in Geneva. If they got into a situation that would have broken any Nation-Nation relationship, then Ivan would have seriously fucked something up and she would just use her authority as Jagdsprinz to kill him. There would be no need for messy rebuilding of emotional ties.

Ivan approved of this. It made being friends, or at least two people who were friendly to each other and had some level of mutual respect which could move towards turning into actual friendship, much less complicated.

He wasn’t entirely sure that extended to him approving of Nia’s idea to bring Isolde along to the treaty signing, though.    

“Is it _always_ like this?” Isolde asked him.

“It is, _solnyshka,_ ” he said quietly. “They are lucky that the humans left them alone. I have heard of treaties that killed Nations where no one had any time to themselves, before.”

“What _is_ dying like?”

“That is a question that your _Elti_ should answer,” Ivan told her firmly.

Isolde made a little bit of a face at him.

“She’s never died, though,” she pointed out. “ _She_ wouldn’t know.”

“It is a serious adult topic,” Ivan said. “And so it becomes your _Elti_ ’s prerogative to handle your education of it, not mine or any other Nations’.”

Now Isolde went for the full out scowl.

“ _I’m_ a _Razanás_ ,” she complained. “If I need to know something, if I _want_ to know something, then I _should_.”

Ivan sighed internally. She had been getting more and more willful lately, trying to pull rank as a reason for _everything._ He wasn’t sure if he should think of it as toddler temper, since she was only five chronologically, or the beginnings of the onset of adolescent independence, since after the incident with Cassiel Navin the renewed public respect and fear of the Jagdsprinz and the Hunt had fed into a growth spurt for Martinach, who could pass for twelve or thirteen now instead of eight or nine. 

“Let us see what your _Elti_ thinks, first.”

They went over to see her, and Isolde had the patience to listen to Nia tell her that this was supposed to be her lesson on Nations’ death, but _not_ to hear that her _Elti_ wasn’t going to give her all the technical details that she really wanted.

“I have seen Nations die,” Ivan told her, trying not to think of Natalya. “Someday I have no doubt that you will, too. I only hope that it is not at the other end of a weapon that you are holding, or that it is someone you love. If this were my decision, you would be learning nothing today, because a Nation’s death is not a pleasant thing.”

Isolde huffed at them both and sulked off to spy on the human diplomats.

“This is much younger than most Nations begin asserting themselves, unless they are born from independence movements,” Ivan remarked to Nia after a few minutes. The silence would have been tolerable if not for the way that the rest of the room had a marked air of gloom- the other assembled Nations, who were ignoring him and now by extension her, were very much aware of their impending mortality.

“Yeah,” Nia agreed. “I remember _Vati_ said once it took him something like forty-five years to do anything like that to Prussia, and eighty years to his government.”

That, Ivan couldn’t help but pull a face at, especially once he did some simple automatic math.

“ _That_ long?” he asked with distaste. _Disgraceful,_ he thought, but he wasn’t about to say that to her.

Nia’s expression suggested that she’d guessed what he’d thought, and so he redirected the conversation.

“Do you really think that this is the best introduction to death for Isolde?”

“This isn’t actually about that,” she told him. “It’s a useful teaching moment; but I did this for the VRG treaty, too. They all knew who was going to die, and at the time I thought that Switzerland and Au-”

He saw her tense up in fury. It was clearly too soon.

 _“-Austria,”_ the Jagdsprinz said. “Deserved some sort of reassurance, if they wanted it. I ended up promising Switzerland I’d take care of his sister, so I decided I shouldn’t deprive anyone else of the chance to ask something of me today; or not be here, in case they wanted me.”

“ _‘Reassurance’_?” Ivan asked.

“I am Jagdsprinz,” she said, in the same flat tone- not _cold_ but lacking warmth; not lacking empathy but simply passionless- that he remembered from the day in Geneva. “I know which of them will die today and who will live-”

Her eyes flicked to him, and then, very subtly, she indicated Poland.

Ah, so it would be Feliks. That thought was oddly reassuring- maybe everyone was scared of his government, and maybe, _maybe,_ he was in danger of slowly cracking along old fault lines as he saw patterns that made bile rise in his throat and cold frustrated hate start to imbue every bit of him; but it would still be Feliks just over the border, all bright colors and swearing and a fiery independent spirit and his stubborn resistance, to oppose him and drag Russia and Ivan down with him, if it came to that. 

“-and I am the one who will escort them to Irkalla, deliver them safely to Ereshkigal and make sure they pass out of my power and jurisdiction.”

 _I didn’t know that,_ Ivan thought, and tried to force down the chill he had at her words.

Nia had certainly stopped counting as human, to him; but sometimes he forgot that that didn’t really make her a Nation, either.

* * *

Isolde had never been to this part of Honalee before, and _Elti_ had told her she _had_ to stay Arion, no matter what. Usually that would have been fine, she liked riding- but the company hadn’t been very pleasant.

They had been _dead,_ the Nations they’d met at the edge of Orcus, in the shadows of the myrtle forest that didn’t at _all_ feel like the darkness of the Jägerskov. It wasn’t like the myrtle shadows were _evil_ or anything- they just weren’t welcoming or warm in the same way as her _Elti_ ’s forest. The myrtle trees’ darkness was uncannily distant and it wasn’t _wrong_ but it didn’t feel _right_ either and it was _worse_ because she’d just seen these Nations _alive_ fifteen minutes ago.

The Nations hadn’t been _right_ either. She’d kind of noticed, before that, that Nations didn’t really feel like humans, but she had to be really concentrating to tell that unless the other Nation had called up their power. But the- these _dead_ Nations’ presences felt kind of like she had stopped paying attention to a room for a minute and someone had changed something, and now she couldn’t figure out _what_ , just that it wasn’t the same.

It was fun at _all,_ and she’d been glad that she was sitting in front of _Elti_ and that _Elti_ had an arm around her because that felt solid and warm and Irkalla didn’t feel like that at _all._ She’d felt the monster in the swamp as they rode over it, and she’d had to resist the urge to gag. Mayet had left her choking up with fear-tinged unease, and Ereshkigal-

Isolde wasn’t really sure if she’d actually _seen_ Ereshkigal, because after a point what she remembered was fear and her face buried in _Elti_ ’s chest and nothing else. She didn’t even remember leaving Irkalla, but here they were back in the fields of Orcus, the myrtle forest on the path behind them.

She tried to cling to _Elti_ when she got off Arion, but it didn’t work and it was only a moment before _Elti_ half-pulled her off of Arion herself and held her.

“I’m sorry, _Kätzchen,_ ” _Elti_ murmured to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be bad for you, give me a few more minutes.”

Isolde sat down in the grass and clung to herself while _Elti_ took off Arion’s tack, scratched some of the itchy spots where the saddle had been, and then let him run off to go visit with his sister. She dropped the saddle and blanket and bridle in the grass off to the side of the path and sat down next to her.

Isolde flung herself at her _Elti_ and her _Elti_ let them fall backwards into the grass, and Isolde couldn’t stop the hysteric feeling or the tears, or herself from saying: “I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die-”

“It’s not like that when you’re dead, _Kätzchen,_ ” _Elti_ told her, holding her tight. “It’s just fine when you’re dead; it just scares you now because you’re still alive and your instincts are telling you what it would take to kill you, it’s like when humans panic-”

“Don’t let me die!”

“You _will_ die someday, _Kätzchen,_ ” she heard _Elti_ say, and she sounded kind of sad but Isolde didn’t _care_ right now, _she_ was _scared_ \- “But I’ll be there, the entire time, and I’ll get you where you’re going and I can promise you that it’s a _nice_ place.”

“But you’re not going to _stay,_ ” Isolde told her _Elti_ , clutching at the ruff of fur that covered the plate gorget of the Jagdsprinz’s armor and blended into the heavy fur cape, at least when it wasn’t spilled out over the grass like this. It wasn’t quite comfortable, lying on _Elti_ in her light plate and brigandine and fur and bits of chain, her sword sticking up at an awkward angle against her; but she cared more about being close, right now. “You won’t _be there._ ”

“No,” _Elti_ said. “I won’t. But you can come visit me.”

“But when _you_ die-” she tried to say, but started sobbing too hard to continue.

“My death is more of an _‘if’,_ Isolde _,_ ” _Elti_ said, and Isolde couldn’t remember her saying anything particularly coherent after that, it was all comforting noises and little words and gently pushing love and calm and safety at her through the Nation bond.

She didn’t really remember having stopped crying, but she did at some point, and might have fallen asleep a little bit, because the next time she was really paying attention to anything that wasn’t her or _Elti Elti_ had pulled her cloak up to cover her and Arion was whuffing at her as Kore Despoina brushed him and talked quietly with _Elti._

Kore was the first to see her look up, and smiled at her.

“Hello, little niece,” she said, and offered Isolde a pear. Isolde didn’t really know where Kore Despoina had gotten a pear, but fruit and wheat and vegetables and wine and beer were the traditional sorts of gifts to give her; and if she wanted to share her extras, that was up to her.

“Niece?” she asked the other King, not quite thinking straight yet. Her head felt stuffed up.

“Of course,” Kore said. “Your _Elti_ is my mother’s spouse’s child, is she not?”  

“But that should be half-niece or something, right?” Isolde asked, trying to focus on the topic. She’d taken a bite of the pear, and that was much easier to care about. The fruit was making her feel better.

Kore actually chuckled a little.

“Semantics,” she said, and handed over a water skein, too. That and the pear were very good distractions, and by the time she’d finished them, _Elti_ and Kore- she wouldn’t call her Aunt Kore, that just sounded wrong, maybe if they got to know each other better someday- were done talking, or at least willing to be finished so _Elti_ could take her home.

 _Elti_ got Arion re-saddled and Kore called another horse so she could ride with them to the border between Orcus and the Jägerskov. Isolde was back up in the saddle in front of _Elti,_ and leaned back into her, feeling wrung out but sort of nicely not-caring about anything. She’d probably fall asleep once they got home.

“What’s that?” she asked a little ways into their ride, pointing. There was a portion of the towering cliff face covered in a waterfall even bigger than the drop of the Celadon into Nysa Canyon. There was a dark, ruined tower and walls at the base of it, and something that shone bright and hard in the slowly-fading afternoon light.

 _Elti_ stiffened at the question, Isolde didn’t know why, but answered her.

“That’s Tartarus,” _Elti_ said. “Back before there was a Jagdsprinz, that’s where Honalenier went when they died if they’d broken something that _I_ would enforce, nowadays, to be punished for their infraction. When Ereshkigal created the Hunt, all of those souls were pulled from Tartarus to be used to create the power of the Hunt.”

“You’re like a Nation, _Elti._ ”

“Not really, _Kätzchen-_ when we take a soul for the Hunt’s power, we don’t keep the person.”

That didn’t sound right to Isolde, because she knew the Jagdsprinz’s Pact and she knew what you weren’t allowed to do to souls.

“It’s more complicated than that,” _Elti_ said, feeling her doubt. She must have been more tired than she thought if _Elti_ was picking up on it without trying. “I’ll tell you someday, after you’ve grown up some more.”

“You say that about _everything,_ ” Isolde mumbled.

“Not _everything, Kätzchen_ ,” _Elti_ replied, sounding amused.

“She doesn’t know already?” Kore asked. Isolde didn’t see her, because she’d closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to fall asleep, not while riding, not even on a horse as good as Arion- but dozing sounded nice.

“Know what?” _Elti_ asked her.

“About all the workings of the Hunt,” Kore said. “I had thought that these were things Nations _knew._ ”

“Isolde isn’t the Hunt,” _Elti_ told her. “She’s Martinach. The Hunt doesn’t have a Nation.”

“It doesn’t?” Kore sounded keenly interested in this for some reason. “You have so many humans in it that I thought you would have born one by now. So when she asked about Tartarus; she doesn’t know what you-”

**_“No.”_ **

Isolde had no idea what her _Elti_ could have done in or about or with Tartarus, and trying to think about it more escaped her. She was just so _tired._

She forgot about it until after dinner the next day, and _Elti_ only shook her head when she asked and told her that she’d tell her later. When she was _older._

Isolde was so _sick_ of having to be _older._

* * *

Rosemarie Simon turned up in May 2098, after the UK broke up and England, Wales, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands quietly collapsed into the Channel Countries. Ivan wasn’t even sure he’d ever heard the reason or why, or that anyone had ever told him that it was _happening._ He certainly couldn’t recall any prior knowledge about the affair the day he turned up in Martinach to find Lana Walker-Kirkland doing her best to smile at the small blonde girl Isolde was ignoring with interest, like a cat.

“The world’s changing,” Dietrich said, sounding excited. Of course _he_ would be excited.

“If it keeps up at this rate,” Liesl said. “We’ll all be dead by the end of next century.”

Dietrich kept away from the subject and steered the conversation in a different direction. Ivan had a moment to be proud of him for recognizing that he wasn’t included in Liesl’s _‘we’_ and letting the matter lie; but only a moment, because he was worried about it, as well.

East of the Urals the New Russian Reform Party had risen, and it was almost a bitter, unpleasant reminder, because it wasn’t really Luka Pajari’s party but the placement and the timing was one of those historical jokes of the universe that wasn’t funny at all.

They called themselves the New Russian Reform Party, but really they were the successors of the last round of Nationalist movements- smartened up from 2048 and borrowing a page from the Italians and the VRG, forming one larger coalition group instead of maintaining small groups like before and keeping natural barriers between them and the threat in Moscow.

Last time, Ivan had been angry that the new Nations had thought of him and his government as a threat- not because it wasn’t true, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of fracturing, losing power, possibly dying.

Now- Ivan was tired. He was _tired,_ and the government weighed on his mind; and he tried not to think about the visit he was almost certain Nia had made to the east just like she’d done to Brussels to meet Rosemarie when she had been born. He tried not to think about the other small Nations from the decades past, of whom only Kyonig and Chechnya and her immediate neighbors had survived, because now his idea of _‘young Nation’_ had Dietrich and Isolde in it too; Dietrich and Isolde who had always had power over their lives and in their governments and whom he’d turned into a weird sort of mentor

(Sometimes he thought _‘older brother’_ but he would not go there he _would **not**_ )

and who were the _future,_ the one he could only vaguely scrounge up hope for.

Ivan didn’t really care, this time, if he died.

“Don’t give up, Vanya,” Yekateryna begged him quietly during a diplomatic meeting. It was just between Russia and Ukraine, this one, and Ivan knew better than to believe what anyone was saying. His government wanted to pull Ukraine in the way they’d pulled Belarus in, twisting Pajari’s motives and the events of his Presidency to make it sound like he’d traded Chechnya for Belarus, land loss in one area for gain in another, to justify their interest in Ukraine to themselves. If east of the Urals was going to act up, then there was _reason_ for what they were doing.

The Ukrainian government was going along because they wanted the economic benefits- but they were never, _never_ going to merge with Russia on Russia’s terms, and particularly with this government. They would smile and make friendly noises and Yekateryna and Feliks and Gilbert would meet in the corners of UN events and over lunch in public cafes and connive a way to get the money and resources they wanted from Russia while keeping them at arms’ length at _least,_ preferably further.

Ivan would have given it all to them, just to be _done_ with this. He’d felt it building for about a decade, and now that it was here- he would have said it was like freezing to death. Every day he was trying to come up with a reason to keep going, because it would be easier to lie down in the snow and let the numbness turn into blackness.

But he could not freeze to death, and death was not permanent. He was friends with Nia, but it absolutely did not extend to assisted suicide; and giving up was just giving Russia, Russia-the-Nation, over to the government.

He’d sworn he’d never do that again.

“Please,” Yekateryna continued. “Please. Even if this doesn’t work and you lose me you have friends. You know what will happen to me, Vanya, where I’ll be. Promise me you’ll keep going.”

He wanted to reply with: _“Promise me you won’t die, you’ll let me go instead,”_ but he didn’t have the energy to speak.

“I can ask Pavel-”

“No,” Ivan said, finding some sort of reserves for _this._ His nephew was finally retired from politics now and he’d built a respectable diplomatic corps for Martinach. Let _that_ be his legacy, unsullied. “They would kill him, Katyusha.”

His sister’s eyes widened, and she looked at his government officials, talking with hers; but she didn’t disagree with him. They didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting.

* * *

It was _completely **unfair**_ because Philipp and Chénguāng were eighteen and they looked like it and Mariheidis was seventeen and looked like it and Erik was fifteen just like her and looked like it but _she was fifteen **too**_ and she still looked _twelve, **maybe;** Christian _was twelve and he was a _terror_ and Philipp and Erik couldn’t _stand_ him and he was their _brother._

Oh, they were still all _friends;_ and they all still came over to see her- but people took _them **seriously.**_

And Philipp and Chénguāng were getting kissy, and it was ridiculous, Philipp wasn’t supposed to be doing that his House Law said that he wasn’t allowed to marry anyone in line for their own throne so that the joint monarchies of Denmark and Liechtenstein could finally split again and not add yet _another_ set of titles and a country to the mess; but they wouldn’t _listen_ to her.

At least Erik and Mariheidis didn’t want to kiss each other, which was good. One pair of friends doing it was _enough._

She was in a bad enough mood about this that she missed noticing Ivan on the couch in _Elti_ ’s office the first time around, but when she paced that way again she caught sight of him and stopped. Other people weren’t usually in _Elti_ ’s office, and when they were it was always when _Elti_ was and they were usually standing and talking or sitting and talking, not sprawled like they were completely exhausted while _Elti_ was out in Combarigny at the government buildings. Ivan looked like he was utterly exhausted, maybe sick.

She edged into the room and sat down on the floor next to the couch.

“Do you need help?” she asked Ivan quietly. If he needed a loan or something, she probably couldn’t give him _that,_ but maybe a little more trade or-

Ivan laughed, maybe. The sound was dry and hoarse and didn’t have any joy at all. It wasn’t even sad. Resigned? A little pained, at least.

“There is no help you can give me, _solnyshka_ ,” he said.

“It’s your government, isn’t it?” she asked. Isolde didn’t know a whole lot about it even though she needed too, because _Elti_ and Arik were trying to keep her from getting _upset._ Liesl and Dietrich were in on it too, so she didn’t even have any help trying to learn the _real_ details, the stuff that didn’t get in the news. “You should order them to stop.”

“I do not have that authority-”

“You _do,_ ” she insisted, aggravated. If they were _hurting_ him, he should stand up for himself! “If just _telling_ them isn’t enough, you should _make_ them listen! You’re their _King!_ ”

Isolde knew he wouldn’t listen to that- none of the other Nations did. Sometimes _Elti_ didn’t listen to either, and she’d kind of promised she would.

But it was all she had to give him, besides the blanket she went and found to put over him and the food she got from the kitchen that he didn’t want to touch.

She had to be more help. She _had_ to; or she had to convince _Elti._

Ivan shouldn’t hurt like this. No Nation should.

But definitely not Ivan.

* * *

It was a surprise and it wasn’t and the bitter rage of it all sent Ivan storming from Moscow in the middle of the morning, orders heavy in his mouth, freezing his tongue and preventing him from walking west, towards his friends and the people could who _help,_ who could _do_ something; or the people who needed to be _warned-_

It wasn’t a surprise because it made perfect sense that this government would have done something like this.

It was a surprise because Ivan hadn’t, had honestly not _ever,_ thought to consider that there could be detailed plans drawn up and waiting for implementation as soon as Ukraine’s government finally stopped dancing around and _‘no’_ to the treaties and the overtures and walked away with what they wanted.

There were _invasion plans;_ and they didn’t stop at the far Ukrainian border. They didn’t dare push further east into the BSDR or Hungary, but south of Ukraine was Romania and beyond that the Balkans, largely abandoned with the collapse of the EU mid-century and summarily pushing through alone as best they could.

They were abandoned, yes, but if the Russian military came down on them they wouldn’t stay abandoned by the rest of Europe for long at _all-_ they’d be on the border of the Balto-Slavonic Republic and there was no way Feliks would tolerate that; and Hungary, and Erzsébet would go straight to Prussia and VGR would _not_ stay out this; and eventually there would be the Adriatic and Venice wasn’t the same empire as it had been but there was Amphitrite to deal with now and Adriatic coast had been part of the empire the _last_ time they’d been properly married and it would certainly rile them up-

And it would be a violation of the Tripartite Treaty, and it would bring the Hunt down on their heads just as surely as the Camorra had brought it down on theirs, or the armies of North and South Italy during the Civil War.

He’d _told_ them this, when he’d found those plans not even an hour ago; he _told_ them and this government was not _stupid_ despite all evidence to the contrary and his boss had looked at him and ordered him not to go to the Jagdsprinz, not to tell her or Ukraine or the VRG or even go any further west than Moscow. He was not allowed to tell _anyone_ of these plans, especially if they were a Nation-

And he was to do everything in his power to _keep_ the Jagdsprinz from coming to Russia, from interfering.

It was impossible.

It was _completely_ impossible but Ivan had his orders and there were tears that wouldn’t fall burning in the back of his eyes and he was walking east, east, east, past the Urals and he found himself in Novosibirsk by the coalition headquarters for the New Russian Reform Party that was a very open secret, and somewhere conscious thought was involved in this but he wasn’t paying attention to them or he was blocking them from his awareness as they happened, he didn’t-

Russia walked the streets of Novosibirsk, pacing but going nowhere, until past lunch and he was hungry but he didn’t care, there was a slow _something_ building in him.

Finally, he found the child.

“Who are you?” he asked the boy.

“The Confederation of Asian Russia,” he said, trying to stand tall and look bigger and stronger than he was. Russia didn’t care; Ivan just felt a slight deepening of the weariness and he wasn’t even sure how that was possible. This child would not grow up like Isolde.

Hopefully, this child would not grow up like _him._

“Your name,” Russia asked, not caring much if it sounded like a question or not.

The Confederation of Asian Russia would probably start trembling if Russia stayed around any longer, but he had enough strength of will to keep looking the older Nation in the eyes long enough to say: “The Jagdsprinz named me Daniil”.

Russia nodded to himself. Daniel in the lions’ den. Appropriate.

He left Daniil be and walked and walked and walked, all over his country, until Ivan had pushed Russia aside enough to sort through the swirl of _breaking the Treaty bringing down the Hunt invasion plans Yekateryna Isolde Dietrich Nia family friends duty honor Nations are Kings make them listen Cuba Prussia Venice they did why not you_ and had a moment of clarity, about eight o’clock, that stopped him dead on the shores of Lake Baikal thinking: _‘It is keeping away the Jagdsprinz if the Jagdsprinz has no one to come Hunt’._

That justified to himself, Ivan and Russia slipping around the binds of the orders, he went back to his house and ate for the first time since breakfast, nothing really cooked but what he could pull out of his pantry and eat as he scoured the house. He picked one of his swords, because it seemed right after years spent in the company of the Hunt and it wouldn’t run out of ammunition; and the gun he had the most correct caliber bullets for.

He filled his pockets with spare magazines, finished his food, and shot his boss at the man’s dinner table first, so no one could stop him from finishing the rest of his job.

He was the Russian Federation, _Razánzvo’úRuzshía, Razanás Ruzshía,_ and if he had to kill another government to keep the madness away _he would._

If the Jagdsprinz passed judgement on him for it-

_in life I am their defender, I am their judge, I am their executioner_

-so be it.

He was ready.

* * *

Isolde woke to the sound of Yekateryna in _Elti_ ’s office, crying and begging her to find Ivan, please, _please, what do you want in payment I can_ -

She lay there, half-listening, as she let what _Elti_ knew filter into her head.

The Russian government was all dead.

_Yekateryna Braginskaya I do not require payment for this-_

It had happened too fast and too close to have happened by anything but magic, and Russian federal law enforcement were panicking just a little- no, a _lot-_ because when a lot of the elected officials turn up slaughtered and all of the top military command and the Nation was missing-

_Is he **dead** please Jagdsprinz, please tell me-_

Russia was not dead, _Elti_ knew; so Isolde slipped out of bed and pulled out her magic kit, an imitation of the supply pack the Jäger sorcerers kept stocked with basic components and their books. She would have liked some hair or cloth, or a ruble or a bit of Russian dirt, but the small blank stone medallion on the cord, her memories, and shared Nationness were going to have to be enough for this. She the marker and wrote Ivan’s glyph-name onto the medallion- a bottom-heavy triangle with two lines like a _‘v’_ sticking up from the top point, a highly simplified double-headed Imperial eagle- and thought about Russia.

This was a variation on the folk magic of dowsing for water, dowsing for where there was the most _‘Russia’_. That would be Ivan.

She would find him, and help him. Someone had killed his government, and he needed a friend.

Her spell took her to a room somewhere in Moscow that she didn’t know, that stank of blood because Ivan was sitting with his back to one of the walls and he was coated with it, in large splotches and smaller splatters. He was partially glued to the floor from where some of it had begun to dry on his clothes. He had a discarded gun, and an uncleaned sword, and was staring blankly off into the distance.

“You,” Isolde just managed to say through her rising confusion- well it was confusion, but there was horror too and she was trying not to feel _that_ this was Ivan-

Ivan closed his eyes, and sighed heavily. He sounded so sad and defeated.

“You were not supposed to see this,” he murmured. “Nothing like this, ever, if we could help it.”

“They were your own _people!_ ” Isolde cried, and went unsteady on her feet. How could- how-

 _Elti_ came, with Yekateryna; and let Yekateryna talk to her brother and she’d brought Jäger because Arik picked her up off the ground and carried her home and put her back to bed. She didn’t complain about being left out this time, because she didn’t want to think about it.

_His own people._

* * *

The time after the Jagdsprinz showed up was not a blur because Ivan remembered it perfectly, this period of time in stark clarity to the hazy memories of blood of death that had just preceded it- Ivan remembered it perfectly but he was detached from it all, so very detached.

He gave the Jagdsprinz his reasons for the slaughter, leaning into Yekateryna in that room; and then took her to see the files and talk to his law enforcement and confirm his story. She told him what amounted to _‘good job preventing a war’_ and left with her Jäger to make the appropriate copies of the evidence and write up his statement and release it to the public for explanation, along with her verdict.

“Take it from me,” he urged Yekateryna, over and over. “Take it from me. Do the treaty on your own terms, let Daniil have his own people east of the Urals, and take it from me.”

“No,” his sister refused, again and again, weeping. “No, no, no, Vanya, I won’t kill you.”

“What else is there for me to do but die?” he asked bitterly, and then: “Take it from me.”

“No.”

The cycle continued.

* * *

Isolde had forced herself to think while _Elti_ was gone, and she’d been gone most of the week, dealing with Russia; and she’d gone to Stuttgart by herself to talk to Dietrich because Dietrich knew some things, and she remembered the things from her lessons that had been terrible things but she hadn’t _known_ about terrible before, just acknowledged that yes, that had been bad, and Dietrich and Liesl and Ivan had moved on.

She couldn’t imagine killing her own people. It was wrong. They were _her._

But if they were- if they did-

She had _Elti_ as her Prince and Isolde had asked her once before to put her under orders because she wanted to know what everyone was so upset about and _Elti_ had actually sworn a vow, like the sort she’d have to punish herself for if she broke, that she never would.

If _this_ was what orders could do to people then she was glad, so glad, that _Elti_ would never give them to her.

When _really_ came home, at the end of the week, Isolde crept into her office to ask her questions because these weren’t things that she wanted to find out through the news.

“Did you kill him?” she asked after _Elti_ had let her climb up into her lap and be held, even though she was kind of too big for that.

“No,” _Elti_ said, and that was one good thing. “It was self-defense, and within his rights as King.”

“What’s going to happen to Russia?”

“It looks like Ukraine is going to take it. The western part, anyhow, because the Confederation of Asian Russia is going to be confirmed by separate documentation once enough of the remaining Russian government gets together to declare it. I don’t know what they’re going to call what Ukraine takes- it might stay Ukraine, they might make it Russia-Ukraine, I even heard someone suggest West Russia-”

“What’s going to happen to Ivan?”

“I don’t know yet,” _Elti_ said, stroking her hair. “I gave him a choice.”

* * *

Gilbert’s Potsdam house smelled of vodka, which was wrong, because he didn’t buy vodka, and meant he had an intruder, because _he_ sure as hell hadn’t been drinking. He’d just gotten off at work.

He found Russia- no, _Ivan,_ Russia didn’t drink to solve his problems- occupying his couch and some undetermined level of drunkenness.

“Are you dying?” Gilbert demanded.

Ivan looked like he was considering all the possible ways _‘dying’_ could entail.

“No,” he said eventually. “No, I have not yet; but there is a possibility and I thought Ludwig would have found it funny but he is dead and Dietrich would not appreciate it so I have come to tell you.”

Gilbert’s skin crawled at _‘Ludwig’_. It was bad enough that the man was _in his house,_ but that overfamiliarity with his brother’s name had been one of the ways Russia had prodded at him during the Soviet Union and the Cold War, the times when things had gone particularly badly and Ivan had been even _less_ present than usual, dangling the idea of invading West Germany at him to see his reaction.

It wasn’t that way now, Gilbert told himself, Ivan was just being an inscrutable drunk idiot who was probably getting close to being dead, what with Ukraine and Asian Russia.

But Ivan was _in his house,_ and Gilbert needed some fucking _warning_ about that. He had power of his own now, but he could feel his fingers going twitchy, wanting a gun or an uplink to Don for protection.

 _I don’t have to fight him,_ he tried to convince himself, and said: “Yeah? What would Ludwig have found funny?”

Ivan pulled out an apple from somewhere and placed it on the coffee table. Gilbert judged him mild-middling drunk, to be able to retain motor functions but think it was a good idea to come _into his house_ and talk to him about his brother.

“An apple,” he said. “Yeah, so hilarious.”

Ivan placed one finger on top of the apple and then raised it, a little unsteadily.

“Ah,” he said. “You are wrong. It is not an apple.”

It was a very nice, even, rich yellow color, but it was _definitely_ an apple. If he was going to spout drunk nonsense, Gilbert was going to call Dietrich and get him to drag his unfortunate taste in friends to _his_ apartment.

“It is an employment offer.”

Gilbert took a third look at the apple and went: _“Shit.”_

“Nia said,” Ivan said. “Nia _said._  The Hunt has many humans now. Many humans. No Nation. She is King but she cannot know her people like that. It is more. More. _More than._ It is a command but home too. They say they are Jäger before they say they are Swiss or Italian or German or other places. They _should_ have a Nation but they do not. Nia says I can be. I know fighting and hurting and cruelty. I know government. She says I have the, the good temperament for it. She says if I join I will be like the Jäger, I will be _hers._ ”

Ivan tilted his head to look at Gilbert.

“No orders,” he said quietly, a little awe-struck. “She promised never to give Isolde orders. She would give me none either.”

He had some more vodka and drifted off for a few moments.

“So!” he said brightly. “I thought it would be funny, if I accepted, Ludwig would think it was funny that Russia would be commanded by his daughter.”

“Ludwig wouldn’t think that was funny at all,” Gilbert told him.

“Hm,” Ivan said, considering this. “Do _you_ think it is funny?”

Gilbert had to pause and think about it.

“A little, maybe,” he allowed.

“ _I_ know what is funny,” Ivan announced with supreme confidence. “You. You are _Stasi_ , Gilbert.”

Ivan was drunk and so he was not going to punch him but-

“I am _not,”_ Gilbert snarled at him.

“Yes!” Ivan said. “Yes! No! True! You are the General, of the military and spies! State Security! _Stasi!_ ”

_“I am not fucking them!”_

“Oh no,” Ivan agreed seriously. “You are yourself. And you are good at it. If she did not hate you, Nia would have asked _you_ to be hers.”

He didn’t remember Ivan being a talkative drunk during the Cold War, but he wasn’t hosting Soviets in his brain now with their shit about conducting surveillance on civilians.

“You think?” Gilbert asked. The Hunt- it wouldn’t have been too bad, he thought. And if he was Jager, he wouldn’t live with the threat of losing his hold on being alive.

“I know,” Ivan said. “Like I know Nia has also asked me so I will stay for Isolde and Dietrich. I have seen you both fight. She is Jagdsprinz, for vengeance for Germany and justice for people, and you are the General, for vengeance for Germany and justice for people. You are same.”

“No,” he said. “I saw her grow up. We’re not.”

Ivan snorted.

“That was before. Now she is Jagdsprinz. Not human girl, human woman, human athlete. She is rage, hate, hurt. I know you both. How long did you live on these?”

He didn’t like talking about this.

“Centuries,” he said grudgingly.

“So shall she,” Ivan said. “Jagdsprinz hard to kill. Will not die soon, promised no orders, _good_ person- but I do not know if I should join.”

He let his eyes drift shut and breathed out loudly. It was a content sound, possibly.

“I could die,” he continued. “Just go. Irkalla and Natalya and no more humans.”

“You’d make your sister upset,” Gilbert told him. “You’d regret that. Nia also wanted you for Martinach and Dietrich?”

Ivan _hmm_ ed.

“Martinach’s a kid, _actually_ a kid, still,” he reminded Ivan. “She’s got Nia, and I’ve heard great things about her parenting but it’s still going to hurt Martinach. And Dietrich-”

 _This_ was bitter. There were things he’d said to Ivan, Russia, that meant more in the real scope of things but were easier to get through. This was personal.

“You’re the closest thing he has to what Ludwig had with me,” Gilbert admitted to Ivan, and yeah Dietrich was a little shit and not in the good way and he was fucking _infuriating_ \- but he was the current German Nation. There hadn’t been one Gilbert hadn’t had some sort of somewhat positive, vaguely supportive relationship with, except Dietrich. “I have no idea _why,_ but he listens to you. And you even dragged Nia into it, somehow. If anybody can convince him Ludwig had good qualities he shares that he shouldn’t be trying to cut out of his personality, it’s her. If you die, that falls apart, and he and I are stuck with each other.”

“What a disaster,” Ivan mumbled.

Gilbert had no idea if he was paying attention or responding to something in his own head, but it applied regardless.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Nia- Nia wouldn’t be a bad boss to have, you were right about that. And she’s going to go to space.”

 _That_ got a reaction. Ivan stirred some, like he had started to fall asleep but then woke himself up. He actually turned over onto his side on the couch so he could do his best to focus on Gilbert.

“Space?”

“If she and Arik been bothering to think about it,” Gilbert said- and they _should have,_ he’d taught Arik better than that. “They wouldn’t be thinking that we know they’ve got a stake in the Venetian settler program; but they do and _we_ do. It’s a primarily Venetian-funded venture with some private capital involved, with most of the settlers being Venetian citizens, or Thálassians. Nia’s going to provide a Jäger contingent to go with them since it’ll be so far away- one of the worlds the Pict ceded us in the Treaty. If the Venetians make it, and Navin Techn-”

No, it wasn’t called that any longer.

“-and HabéTech can keep populating Mars and even move out to Enceladus like they’d planned, everybody else is going to get on the space bandwagon. There’ll be Jäger all over the stars, I bet.”

“Space,” Ivan murmured, looking far away and dreamy. That could have been the alcohol, and some of it probably was- but he’d been in the Space Race. “Space is good.”

Gilbert couldn’t really say he felt very strongly about it. He knew Earth, and his roots and ruins were here. If he li- He’d have to leave Earth sometime, since he was going to hold onto staying alive as long as he possibly could, but he’d deal with that when it came.

“Don’t throw up on my couch,” he ordered Ivan, who was still vacantly contemplating stars. “And don’t decide to eat that Apple drunk- Nia _did_ offer it to you, but I don’t think she’d like that.”  

Ivan was gone and the room was cleaned up when he went down the next morning.

* * *

Isolde was awake this early because _Elti_ was awake this early, and something had _changed._ She’d always been able to feel _Elti,_ and being able to find _Elti_ all the time was wonderful- but she knew how _Elti_ felt, and it shouldn’t be like _this._

 

There wasn’t- there wasn’t anything _wrong_ with _Elti,_ even though she was awake and alert at 4:30 and down in the Court Gallery. But there was this really frustrating sense that there was something on the- on the _other side_ of _Elti_ that she _should_ be able to sense, but just knew was _there_ without being able to _feel_ it.

She tried to go back to sleep but it didn’t work, so fifteen minutes later she pushed open the door to the top of the grand staircase down to the dais. She stopped momentarily, in the dark on the landing, because _Elti_ was sitting in her throne.

 _Elti_ didn’t like doing that when there people around and she _certainly_ didn’t do it regularly in private.

“ _Elti_?” she asked softly. Doing it any louder would make the Gallery go all echo-y, and disturb the dark twilight besides.

“Why are you awake, Isolde?” _Elti_ asked, and the noise when she shifted told her that _Elti_ was in her armor.

“Something’s happened,” Isolde said, coming down the rest of the stairs. _Elti_ was in her full armor, slouched a little in the throne, the bleached bones and white wings of the demon looming behind her. People had told her this was meant to be impressive, but Isolde hadn’t really been able to see it until now. A bunch of lights for a party robbed it of its effect- it needed shadow, like what she’d imagined the Jagdsprinz and the called Hunt had, to look really menacing.

 _Elti_ ’s Helm was on the floor by her feet, and she looked at Isolde with faint surprise.

“That woke you up?” she asked. “I’m surprised you felt anything.”

It was _weird,_ just having her and _Elti_ in the Gallery, _Elti_ dressed like she was waiting for a Hunt.

“What’s wrong, _Elti_?” Isolde asked, trying not to sound scared.

“Nothing’s wrong, _Kätzchen,_ ” her _Elti_ said, voice soft. She beckoned, and Isolde knelt down beside her and hugged _Elti_ ’s legs, doing her best to get her head in her lap. _Elti_ petted her hair. “I’m just waiting.”

It was kind of like when _Elti_ promoted Jäger, Isolde realized after a couple moments of imagining. Usually there were other Jäger around, ready to welcome the promoted one into their new rank and give them some advice. But this was no time for it.

He appeared the way she was used to, there between the passing of one second to the next.

“ _Wildes Jagd_ ,” _Elti_ said. “Good of you to join us.”

 _That’s not his name,_ Isolde thought as she straightened up. He looked- a lot better, even in this lighting, eyes clear and back straight, better settled into himself.

“You did not think I would?” Ivan asked.

“You haven’t been very happy lately,” _Elti_ said. “Yekateryna was telling me- things.”

“I found I did not want to die, Jagdsprinz,” Ivan said. “Not if I could be assured that my second life would be more pleasant than my first. If I have _you_ as my prince, well-”

He looked at Isolde, and she looked up at _Elti,_ the feeling of something _‘on the other side’_ becoming clear, suddenly. _Elti_ was Prince of Martinach but Jagdsprinz too, and if she had a Nation for both then why _shouldn’t_ they be aware of each other, through her.

 _“Elti!”_ she said. “ _Elti-_ you _didn’t!_ ”

 _Elti_ looked down at her.

“Oh, I did,” she told her, and Isolde scrambled to her feet and bolted down the stairs, slamming into Ivan to give him a tight hug. It didn’t rock him at all, and he bent over a little to return the hug.

“You’re _staying!_ ” she exclaimed. “You’re _staying, **here!**_ I thought- I-”

“I will be right here, _solnyshka,_ ” Ivan told her. “You will not be rid of me so easily, hm?”

She squeezed him and sniffed. She wasn’t going to cry here.

“I’m sorry I got scared,” she mumbled into his coat.

“No,” he said. “You are young, and should not have had to see that.”

Isolde looked up at him.

“Thank you for not going.”

He chuckled and ruffled her hair slightly.

“I think I may come to enjoy life,” he said. “If I am not always worrying about what politics may bring, and am assured the chance to do _good_ things, instead of bad.”

“And flowers?” Isolde asked.

“And flowers,” he agreed.

She heard _Elti_ get up off her throne and come down the stairs to them. Ivan straightened, breaking the hug, and Isolde looked up to see that she was holding her hand out to Ivan.

“I would give you the same promise I gave my daughter,” she told him, and Isolde felt Ivan inhale sharply. He’d learned enough from being around the Jagdshall and Martigny to take _Elti_ ’s arm in the proper way for making or taking a vow, clasping each other’s forearms.

“Marshal Ivan Braginiski, _Razánzvo’úVhéldasjaghd, Razanás Vhéldasjaghd,_ ” _Elti_ said, looking him dead in the eyes. Isolde was surprised, for a moment- Lord Hiruz was the only other Marshal of the Hunt, the position that came with the authority to act for the Jagdsprinz in her absence.

But Ivan _was_ a Nation, like her.

“You are one of my Jager and I your Prince, and I promise you this day that you will receive directions from me, you will receive directives from me, and you will receive commands phrased as requests that I will _expect_ you to follow; but you will never have an order from me that you will be _forced_ to follow.”

“I accept this promise from you, Jagdsprinz,” Ivan replied, the formal closing of the promise ritual, and they let go of each other. “Thank you.”

“There was an availability and you were willing to take it,” _Elti_ said. “It’s just what Ereshkigal and Amphitrite did to me, but more honest. There’ll be a time, eventually, when you won’t thank me for taking you on.”

“Jagdsprinz, I have been a Nation almost a thousand years and faced the demon you have hanging over your throne with no hope for survival,” Ivan told her. “This makes me more prepared for the Hunt than any other who has come to you, yes? I doubt regret will be a factor.”


	6. Árpád and Csaba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the end: non-explicit but intense violence

Árpád Héderváry had lived for three years in Berlin in _Apa_ ’s apartment, but they didn’t remember it at all. _Nagymama_ said that they’d hated it, the couple of times it had come up; but one time they’d seen _Apa_ , after they’d gotten older, he’d confided to them that he’d given them to his mother to raise because he couldn’t stand the thought of Cassiel Navin taking his head out of his ass long enough to realize that there was a child with a two-Nation-parent _Seelenkind_ and a Honalenier for parents.

 _Apa_ did not trust Cassiel Navin, nor did _Nagymama,_ and so Árpád was perfectly convinced of the validity of their distrust of him, and the only couple of times they’d gotten scared about what might happen if Cassiel Navin thought about them they’d gone out and hid in the stables because the warhorses would protect them.

The warhorses were wonderful. _Horses_ were wonderful.

They’d grown up on _Nagymama_ ’s horse farm, east of Budapest near Babatpuszta. _Nagymama_ had taught them _all about_ horses- riding them, feeding them, grooming them, fixing their tack, doctoring them, training them, helping them give birth, putting them down if they got too sick or hurt to recover.

Horses were _life._

No one else understood this, for some reason. _Nagymama_ had tried to push them, gently, when they were younger, to get into something that wasn’t horses. Something school-like, that they could do with other people their age and maybe go to university for. Árpád didn’t _hate_ going to school, but it wasn’t as interesting as horses.

There were only two things she managed to make them interested in: music, and magic.

The music came first, because _Nagymama_ had a great big piano in the front room, and one of Árpád’s earliest memories was her pulling the dust cover that had always covered it before off and tuning it.

“I don’t know how to play this very well,” _Nagymama_ had told them. “But your _Nagyapa_  would want you to know.”

The piano was okay and it sounded very pretty, but it took until _Nagymama_ couldn’t teach them anything more about the piano and Árpád’s ambivalence about it being clear for her to pull out a violin and do her best with that. Violins were a _lot_ better than pianos, even if it was difficult to make violins sound right at first, because they were small and portable and once _Nagymama_ stopped trying to teach them classical pieces- still not horrible and kind of pretty- and switched to folk songs and the sorts of things you’d play for dancing, music went from _‘better’_ to _‘great’_.

Árpád got _very_ good at folk songs, and improvised sometimes.

The magic came in piecemeal, at first. _Nagymama_ would teach them small things; mostly about iron and how it was good for removing magic or preventing it from being cast and should be kept around to trap luck. There were horseshoes over the stable doors and over the stalls and in the house, too, and _Nagymama_ had a small forge in the back and made them an iron charm of a _táltos_ tree to wear to keep safe when they were eight and big enough to be around horses regularly; and then a knife when they were thirteen, for stable work and protection against threats magical and physical. There were things about predicting the weather, and a couple things about health, but that was it until Árpád was fifteen.

When Árpád was fifteen, they had just started to get good at improvising on the violin and had taken theirs out into the field where the horses were because it was a nice day. They’d played a few short things, and then started a different song and started to improvise once the end drew near to extend it, trying to play in time and tune with the breeze in the grass and birds-

And the horses had danced.

Árpád hadn’t been trying to do that, but the music didn’t _feel_ like it was finished yet and so they couldn’t stop playing, and the horses were dancing and so they _had_ to dance with them, still playing-

The song finished with them and the herd head _‘bowing’_ to each other, the herd head down in front on one leg, the other tucked under the body, Árpád bent down almost to the grass, weight entirely on the one leg, the other stretched out to the side.

Getting up from that position hadn’t been the most comfortable thing, but they’d gone to get _Nagymama_ and dragged her out to the field and played a short little song and the colts and fillies obligingly danced to show off, and _Nagymama_ had stared at all of them for a few moments before going back into the house to call _Apa_.

“ _Tudós pásztor_ ,” she called them fondly later that night. That made Árpád happy- cunning shepherds were some of the best protection against witches, able to defeat them and keep villages and people safe and forcing the witches to fix the damage they caused. They could scatter flocks and herds and bring them back, never losing an animal to wandering or sickness- cunning shepherds could even bind and release people and things with magic.

This was going to be so _useful._

János Héderváry had shown up two days later with a little black book, and started magic lessons. He couldn’t stay _all_ the time, of course, because he had to do things with the company- Árpád was used to that, and accepted it- but he started coming around more, teaching them about what you weren’t allowed to do with magic and the basic ideas and the different ways Honalenier did their not-specialized-magic, which sometimes sounded like the sorts of folk magic things _Nagymama_ had taught them and sometimes sounded like something out of a high fantasy novel with spell books and rituals and mirrors and magical signs and things.

“That’s because _‘soul magic’_ is our dump term,” _Apa_ admitted to them and _Nagymama_ with a little grimace, over dinner. “We use it when people are actually manipulating souls, and we use it for the sort of mystic things that people get up to-”

“Shamans,” _Nagymama_ put in.

“Yes, _Mama_ ,” _Apa_ said. “ _Herra_ Väinämöinen counts for that- and we also include the sort of magic that comes instinctively to some people. Well. Nations and _Seelenkind_ , really.”

“You should have more precise terminology,” _Nagymama_ told him.

“We’re trying, _Mama_ ,” _Apa_ replied, sounding tired. “But we have to _agree_ on it all first.”

“There are only _five_ of you, Jansci.”

“There’s me and Nico and Øystein and Lana and Luisa and _Signor_ Agresta and Mr. Kirkland and _Herr_ Brynjarsson and _Herra_ Väinämöinen and _Domnule_ Dalca,” _Apa_ said. “That’s ten. I mean, it’s usually me and Nico and Lana doing the most talking, but everyone else is helping too. Plus sometimes there are people I met in Honalee who I ask opinions from; and Nico and Lana have their own contacts. We’re trying to build an entire theory and working practice of magic, _Mama_ \- we argue a _lot._ At least Ásdís is paying me for it.”

 _Nagymama_ had raised her eyebrows at him.

“Not Cassiel?”

 _Apa_ snorted.

“Cassiel is convinced he’s the best thing to happen to magic since- _ever,_ really. He has no idea what I’m _actually_ doing. He has no idea what _any_ of us are doing.”

And that was why Árpád preferred the horse farm, because things were pretty simple here. There were horses, and their violin, and _Nagymama_. There was nothing else to want.

* * *

Berlin wasn’t really fashionable at _all_ these days, which was a shame since they had to _live_ there.

Luckily, Csaba Héderváry-Brynjarsson, heir to at least one half of Navin Technologies, owned a penthouse in Stuttgart, which was a _much_ more happening place.

Okay- _technically,_ he owned it jointly with Svana and Akane Honda-Ásdísdottir, because _Frænka_ Ásdís was very susceptible to spoiling them. But it was in a good part of town and they could invite everyone they knew and the parties. Were. _Awesome._

Csaba would not remember it in the morning, because he was very, _very_ drunk- but right now, he was making vague, possibly-explanatory motions with both hands, one of them still holding his glass, at Natazsa and Oskar Łukasiewicz-Väinämöinen, who were not drunk at _all,_ which was going to be unfair in about six hours.

“It’s like,” Csaba tried to tell them. “Okay. So the company. Irresponsibility. Bad combination. But Mr. Navin _is_ irresponsibility. Not to be trusted. _Pict._ ”

“That seems like it’s worked out, though,” Natazsa said.

 _“Genocidal alien conquerors,”_ Csaba countered. _“Lucky.”_     

“He has a point,” Natazsa’s brother told her.

“Need… magic,” Csaba continued. “For company. Science. Magic. Money. Make lots of money for _space_. But no stock.”

“Why not?” Oskar asked.

“Public trading bad,” Csaba told him. “Magic and public. Don’t know enough. Not like. Fire. Like. Like.”

“The general public doesn’t know enough about magic, so the current board doesn’t trust any Board of Trustees they could get to handle the company properly?” Natazsa suggested.

“That,” he said, shoving his glass at her because freeing one finger to point was too complicated. “ _That._ So company has to stay in family. But Navin. Cassiel. Fucked up son. An… an. Don’t know about business. Money. Fights people.”

“And I don’t think that the Hunt is very impressed with Navin Technologies after what they did to the LP series in Italy.”

Csaba shuttered. He was drunk, yes, but he and Svana and Akane had been forced to see the footage and the pictures of what had happened when the Hunt encountered the LP series guns. Cassiel had ranted about it for _days_ and purchases had dried up as people realized they had no idea what the Hunt had _done_ to make them fail so catastrophically. Alcohol couldn’t get rid of those pictures. Hands melted off...

“So,” he said once he’d managed to push the topic from his head. It only took a few more swallows of alcohol, a long hard stare at the light fixture overhead, and trying and spectacularly failing to mathematically analyze the dance music. “ _So. Far_ says I get half. ‘M _magical_. Wife gets rest. Own as whole, magic kids to take over. _Have_ to have magic kids. So. Company. Uh… uh… family. Svanakane. Marry one’v’em. Cass… Navin. Signs paper ours now.”

“He’s signed the company away?” Oskar said. “ _I_ hadn’t heard anything about that.”

“No,” Csaba told him. “No. Later. One… two? Onetwo year. Trick’m. Gotta…”

He managed to find Svana and Akane in the crowd- Svana was dancing up a storm, as usual, and Akane had melted into one of the chairs in the corner, blanket pulled over her head. She was either passed out, or asleep, and for some reason Csaba’s brain was telling him she was most likely just asleep and for the life of him he couldn’t say _why_ that would be, nothing made sense, why was he talking about getting married again, where was the rest of the alcohol.

“Pick one,” he told Natazsa and Oskar, remembering he’d left his sentence trailing. “Soon. Soonish. Don’ wanna. Hafta.”

He poked Natazsa with his foot- or maybe it was Oskar, he couldn’t really tell.

“Like _you_ better,” he mumbled, not caring whoever responded to that. It would be equally true for both of them.

“That sounds terrible,” Oskar said. “I’m glad _I’m_ not in politics.”

“Can you imagine if we’d ended up with different parents?” Natazsa asked. “I mean, thank _God_ we’re in a republic, right? I hear that Nation’s descendants are a hot marriage market good in Honalee. Bad enough _Csaba’s_ stuck on it- _he’s_ got a choice of two people he knows well. _We_ could get married off t-”

Csaba might have passed out, maybe; or maybe he just zoned out under the influence of the alcohol and the lights, which were so much better than anything else going on and oh, right, math, was it useful how that didn’t usually shut off? He didn’t really _need_ to know exactly how fast the light was going when it hit his eyes, or the sound his ears. It was going to start hurting soon regardless.

But maybe he dreamed that part. Sometimes that happened, too.

* * *

Árpád had learned about the Hunt from _Apa,_ who had mostly told them not to cross them. They also knew the uniform, which was why they could identify the woman who came up behind him in the field as he played so the horses could dance as a Jager.

Árpád actually _stopped_ in the middle of the song, just to look at her. She had dark hair, maybe-black with brown highlights, and hazel eyes, and she was an officer, with that red sash and the knife. They forced themselves to focus on something other than her face- smiling, just a little at them, in gentle amusement- and take a look at her rank markings.

Two gold stripes on the sleeve cuffs, with two gold dots between them, that was a Hauptman- wait, no, she had a gold chevron on the upper part of her sleeve. Kommandant, then. Blue square tabs on either collar, with a gold five embroidered on it- 5th Reiter. Kommandant of the 5th Reiter, Kommandant of the 5th Reiter, _Apa_ had given them the names of all the officers Kommandant-level and above, just in case, they should _know_ who this was.

The Kommandant started smiling wider and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. Árpád noticed, a little dazed at the movement, that she was even wearing the black gloves of formal duty, the most obvious of the subtle differences between the Hunt’s working and formal uniforms.

“Horsecharmer,” she said, still smiling. “I’ve heard of you.”

 _She’d_ heard of _them?_

“Sure,” she said, and _sat down next to them_. “You’re Árpád Héderváry, _Herr_ Héderváry’s kid. I’m here with the Jagdsprinz to buy more horses- which ones would you recommend?”

 _She_ wanted _their opinion._ They knew a lot about the horses and could talk about them for the rest of the day, discussing gait and temperament and their best fighting style. They would- they would _gladly_ recommend her a horse- she could have Etele, the second-best in the whole herd; István was the best but István was _theirs_ and, and they’d say these things but first

“Who-” they tried, and got tangled up in their own words somewhere between mind and tongue. “Who are you?”

“Oh!” she said. “Kommandant Terenzia Agresta, 5th Reiter, stationed Venice, commanding officer Leutnant Dariya.”

She looked a little… _embarrassed_ about this, and they had no idea why, they hadn’t messed up and they sounded very nice-

“Wolfsdaughter,” they blurted before they’d properly thought about it, and now _this_ was embarrassing.

“What?” Terenzia asked.

“Um. Wo- uh, Wolfsdaughter,” Árpád said. “You called me _‘Horsecharmer’_ and well, names, titles. They call your father the Wolf of Naples, you know; at least they did _here,_ for-”

“For the Camorra, yeah, I know,” Terenzia cut them off. “I’m pretty sure they did that everywhere. _Papá_ was kind of- unforgettable. Especially with the pictures.”

Árpád had also seen the pictures, but only because they had been watching the footage people had gotten of the Hunt to evaluate how they treated and used their horses. A magical immortal cavalry had to put a lot of wear on horses, but they hadn’t been able to find anything obviously wrong.

If the Hunt was here to buy more horses, then Árpád would tell them about the horses. They talked to her for some time about the horses, they didn’t know how long, and told her _all about_ Etele because if Terenzia was the Kommandant of 5 th Reiter then she needed a big strong horse who would charge someone down without flinching.

Granted, that should probably be an attribute of _all_ of the Hunt’s horses, but still. Reiter Kommandant.

Árpád watched Terenzia and the Jagdsprinz and the few other Jäger they’d brought to test out the horses ride away, Terenzia on Etele and leading her old horse, and remarked to _Nagymama_ , as casually as possible, that they should probably stay behind in Martinach when the two of them took the rest of the horses in in a few days.

Because someone needed to keep an eye on the horses- make sure they were being trained properly, you see; and these horses had grown up with them and so they had a duty to ease them into the transition.

They were going to stay in Martinach. For the horses. Of course.

“ _Nagymama_ wha-” they started to exclaim, but _Nagymama_ had already grabbed their face with both hands was fervently saying:

“Árpád I am so _happy_ that you’ve found people you’re interested in interacting with, I’ll help you pack. Having friends who aren’t horses will be good for you.”

* * *

“I’m worried about Svana,” Akane told him a few weeks after they’d gotten engaged. It took Csaba a minute to register that she’d even said anything to him, because she barely talked in his presence, ever.

Csaba didn’t really know what she wanted _him_ to do about it- Svana had walked out of the engagement meeting the moment he’d announced he was going to marry Akane. He _had_ tried to talk to her, because _Apa_ had told him to, in that way of his that made it technically a suggestion, but Csaba knew better.

All he’d managed to get out of her was a fragmented, tearfully furious sentence about how they were both the eldest children, how could he pass over her like that, Akane didn’t even like the parties and the glamor and the media the way he did hadn’t he always called her boring, _why-_

“I’m _not_ the eldest,” Csaba had reminded her. “Árpád’s the eldest. And yeah, you’re good to have around at a party and I like you a lot and we get along pretty well and you know a lot about business and magic but. You know. Akane’s not _wild_ the way you are. The company has a reputation to maintain.”

“A _reputation!_ ” Svana had shrieked at him, and stormed off, and that had been the last he’d seen of her.

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Csaba told his fiancée. “Shouldn’t you talk to her?”

“I can’t find her,” Akane said, then stuck her nose back into the financial reports they’d been working on in silence. Now that they were engaged, their parents were starting to feed them more responsibility.

Well, that was a little weird. Akane and Svana hadn’t ever managed to have the sort of relationship Natazsa and Oskar did, or the other siblings that occasionally hung around at their parties. Csaba wasn’t really sure how or why any of them did it, having that mystifying bond that was supposed to be so strong and special. Sometimes he thought that if Árpád and he had been raised together, they could have managed something like that- though, no, Akane and Svana had been raised together and hadn’t managed it, and he couldn’t see how adding Árpád would have helped. Then it would just be _Árpád_ who would have had to make the decision between Svana or Akane for a wife, and Csaba knew very well Natazsa and Oskar’s opinion on all of _that._

They didn’t really understand, though, about the company. Things couldn’t have turned out any differently, not for any of them. Svana and Akane had always known that only one of them would be able to marry him, and if that had been the wedge that had kept them from getting close, so be it.

But Svana didn’t have to be so _upset_ about it. Maybe she’d been misunderstanding what Csaba spending time with her actually meant, but that was hardly _his_ fault. It wasn’t like they were going to turn her out in the street or something if just because she wasn’t picked. She’d still work at the company if she wanted a job here; and if she wanted to go somewhere else then they had the money to send her somewhere else, so long as she didn’t cause any fuss or scandal.

 _Apa_ or one of his research friends could probably find her a place in Honalee where she couldn’t get into trouble, Csaba decided, and put it out of his mind for the moment. He still had finances to work through.

Sure enough, she turned up again without him having to go out and look or anything like that- he just hadn’t been expecting it to happen the way it did.

He’d been taking the bit of paper that, once signed by Cassiel Navin, would make him and his spouse the legal heirs of Navin Industries, down to the man’s office to be slipped in with his other paperwork, and he hadn’t been paying terribly much attention because he was nervous about the paper. Probably Cassiel Navin would just sign it without looking at it when he wandered in to clear out his inbox; but maybe something would go wrong, if this didn’t get signed then what had he been _doing_ with his life, if this didn’t work-

Svana was in Cassiel Navin’s office, sorting his paperwork.

“Oh,” Csaba said, seeing her. “Hi.”

She glanced up at him and then looked back down at the papers, sorting a little more aggressively now.

“Is that the contract,” she said flatly.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling a little awkward. “Why-”

“I’m working with Mr. Navin now,” she interrupted. “I mean, I was before, but I've made it _official_ now. And I take care of the distracting outside things.”

That was not at _all_ what Csaba had been expecting to hear.

“But- but everything he’s- what our parents have said-”

 _“Yes,”_ Svana cut him off, snarling. “And look where listening to _our parents_ has gotten us!”

It was… understandable, he supposed. Just barely, but eventually Cassiel Navin would do something, just like he always did, and then she’d cut and run. Until that point, though, he wasn’t going to try to argue with her about it. He knew her well enough to know she’d just get more stubborn about staying.

“He’s doing interesting things,” she continued defensively.

“Okay,” Csaba said. She stared at him momentarily, taken aback by the lack of resistance. He used the opportunity to hold the paper out to her. “If you’re sorting his paperwork, make sure this gets signed?”

She took a moment to glare at him, but took the paper, and Csaba didn’t let himself worry about if she’d try to sabotage this or not because if she did then they’d _know_ they needed to find a nice quiet corner of Honalee or somewhere for her.

But the paper came back signed without any fuss at all, and Csaba delivered it to the board and smiled to himself. If you held some faith in people, they would live up to it. You just had to give them that chance.

* * *

Árpád had ridden off of _Nagymama_ ’s horse farm on István, all of the equipment needed to take care of tack and violin in one saddlebag, basic hygiene supplies and some small personal belongings in the other, their violin case strapped on top, and a selection of their clothes in their backpack. The knife _Nagymama_ had made them was stuck down the top of their boot and they had the _taltós_ tree charm around their neck and their passport and wallet, stocked with specie for currency exchange and a credit card, in their pocket.

 _Nagymama_ and _Apa_ had taught them about collapsing distance, so they just rode István to Martigny, coming into the city down one of the mountains in the east, headed towards the valley and the highway they’d have to cross to get to where they knew the Hunt kept their horses. They were happily surprised to find that the large cleared area by the highway with the little market had a bridge over the highway to the horse field, and they rode István across it without anyone staring or making any comments. They rode István straight up to the horse herd, which already had some of _Nagymama_ ’s and his horses in it, unloaded István, and let him go mingle.

When the horses were ready to go home for the night, Árpád just followed them up to the stables and helped out the stablehands with getting everything in order. The stables were- very strange, to him. They were a few large buildings, but there were only some stalls, and much more open space for the horses to move around in as they wished. There were some doorless stalls, too, and Árpád didn’t quite know what to make of those until he saw some of the horses- not any he knew- walk into them like they owned those areas. The stablehands let them be until they’d cared for the other horses, and then went to the horses in the open stalls and _asked_ them, actually _asked_ them, very politely, if they needed anything.

 Árpád recalled, belatedly, that most of the Honalee stock was from Arion’s line. _Apa_ had told them about Arion, and if these horses in the open stalls that the stablehands spoke to like people were his children, closest to him in blood out of all the herd, then they were fey in their own right, just as much as any non-horse-shaped person.

They could only approve of this arrangement. These stablehands knew horses, even if they were a little unobservant. István had gotten his own stall and Árpád had decided to exercise their common sense and not bring it up. If the Hunt was going to stable István, they were welcome to; and it wasn’t like Árpád wasn’t going to up here every day anyway.

They left István’s things in his new stall, gathered up the rest from where they’d left it, and walked down to Martigny and took out a long-term rent on a cheap hostel room.

A pattern to the days developed easily, from there.

Árpád woke up in the morning and left the hostel to buy breakfast. Every day except Sunday, they then went up to Jagdsberg, as the locals called it, and helped out with the morning chores in the stables. So far, no one had caught onto the fact that they weren’t _technically_ employed, but who was going to complain if they did? Árpád couldn’t see any reason why the Hunt would turn them out for giving free work with the horses.

The stablehands had a communal lunch, and Árpád would take a little something simple from here and take it off to the field where the horses were, so they wouldn’t get questioned. The horses were left pretty much alone for the day, and the afternoon for the stablehands was more about replacing shoes and fixing tack and cleaning out hay and such than actually doing things with the horses.

So Árpád took their lunch in the field, and sat with the horses until it was time for them to go home.

The first day, that had been quite an adventure.

They hadn’t been expecting much, just a quiet afternoon with the horses and maybe riding István some, or at least putting him through paces; but they hadn’t even finished lunch before one stallion in particular walked right up to them.

Árpád couldn’t do anything but admire him. He looked something like a Friesian, big and tall and strong with the characteristic black coat and feathering around the hooves; but this stallion wasn’t a Friesian, not really. If they’d been asked to explain _why_ this stallion wasn’t a Friesian, they could have provided details about the head and body that proved this wasn’t one, but that wasn’t the biggest tell at all.

Horses talked. Árpád had tried to explain it to _Nagymama_ and _Apa_ more than once, but they just didn’t understand. Horses didn’t _talk_ talk, of course; and they didn’t have some sort of secret language or anything; and they certainly weren’t telepathic with horses in the least.

It was just- if a horse had something to say, Árpád knew what it was, just like they just _knew_ whenever there were horses around in the first place.

But this was the first horse they’d ever seen who was really trying to hold a _conversation_ with them.

 _I see you, Seelenkind,_ the stallion told them. _Welcome to the Jagdsprinz’s lands. Your presence is pleasing._

“Thank you,” Árpád said. “I’m glad to be here. You know me?”

 _How could I **not** know you, Horsecharmer?_ the stallion asked, a bit sarcastically. He flopped down on the grass next to them. _You smell of the sorcerer János Héderváry, who I know well; and our new herd members from Razanás Magyarország are overjoyed to find that you have followed them. They are quite vociferous about it, and I was forced to listen to them all last night._

“I hope you weren’t too disturbed,” Árpád told him. “But is that really what people call me? _‘Horsecharmer’_?”

 _Only those who know,_ the stallion said. _Any of the Zauber Regiment, or your father’s friends and contacts. The sorcerers know well now that Seelenkind who take to magic will have an especial talent- just as Nico Agresta’s is destruction, yours is in horses. So now we have the Wolf of Naples, Horsecharmer, Teufelmördor, the Dragon- and I daresay that eventually we will find epithets for your father and Lana Walker-Kirkland and Øystein Bryjnarsson and Luisa Costa and the Agresta children. Epithets are useful things, you see, for giving Seelenkind the gravitas they deserve._

Árpád wasn’t entirely certain they deserved any particular _gravitas,_ but if the Honalenier thought they should have it then Árpád would have it.

“And what about Cassiel Navin?” they asked.

The stallion seemed to find this highly amusing. 

_Oh, Nico Agresta has said on more than one occasion that we should refer to him as ‘the Prideful’, but that is inexcusably rude,_ he said. _Though no one has any better ideas. ‘The Artificer’ was suggested once, but it seems to fit Brynjarsson better. He was quite inventive to hide his magic how he did._

“ _Apa_ did tell me some of that,” Árpád said. “I don’t really know anything about engineering, but  it _sounded_ impressive.”

 _Tell me, Horsecharmer,_ the stallion said. _Have you come to be a Jager?_

“I came for the horses,” Árpád told him. “And, um-”

They shouldn’t lie, especially to Honalenier. They knew the stories.

“Kommandant Agresta was very pretty,” they muttered.

The stallion snorted in amusement.

“But I wasn’t planning on being a Jager,” Árpád continued. “I just want to be around horses, and there are a lot here, and there’s magic, and I think I’d fit in here better than anywhere else.”

 _Quite true,_ the stallion told them. _And if you should chose to become part of the Hunt, Árpád Héderváry, we would be glad to have you. If you do, call on me to give petition to the Jagdsprinz, and I will make it so._

“You can _do_ that?”

 _I am Arion son of Amphitrite, First Jager, Prince of Horses,_ the stallion said, neck arching proudly. _I am as integral to the Hunt as the Horn or the Helm, or the Well or the Tree, or the Jagdsprinz’s armor or sword. She **will** listen to me, when I choose to speak._

“Thank you,” Árpád told him, bowing from their seat in the grass. “I have done nothing to earn this.”

 _You have done all you need to,_ Arion said, and rose to leave. _Bring your music to the field someday, Horsecharmer, and let us hear it._

Árpád had decided to give themself some time to settle in first, and to get the stablehands used to seeing them around the horses, before they tried any magic in the field. They did not want anyone thinking they were attempting any harm to the horses or the Hunt.

Today was Sunday, and most of the Hunt had today officially off, so Árpád woke up and got their violin and walked up to the field to play for the Arion and the horses.

They started off with some short sections from classical pieces, just for variety, and then moved into Hungarian folk songs. At first they were calm pieces, happy and sad but not _dancing_ music, until the Honalenier horses had gotten intrigued enough and _Nagymama_ ’s horses impatient enough to start on the dances.

The third or fourth song was starting to come to a close, the horses up and dancing, when suddenly Arion broke from the music and _screamed,_ both an order to the herd to move away and a challenge to the enraged white streak careening towards them. He struck it with both front hooves and the streak went tumbling across the grass, resolving itself into a unicorn.

As it staggered upright, horn pointed menacingly at Arion to keep him from getting too close, Árpád could see that it had slipped its steel bridle and mist spirit handler somehow, now constrained only by the steel horseshoes it wore. That was enough to keep some of its magic limited and slow it down, but the bridle was what _really_ made a unicorn relatively safe to be around.

They weren’t sure if this unicorn had enough power to drain anyone, but hooves and horn would be enough to kill, and there was plenty of magic in blood. Arion could likely put up a fair fight against it, but Árpád knew it wasn’t really after any of them- they were just in the way, between it and the city below.

There would be Jäger around momentarily, Árpád was sure; but in the meantime, there wasn’t any reason why they couldn’t help Arion.

When they played their violin for the horses, they didn’t _make_ them dance. The horses wanted to dance, and so they did. The music and the magic behind it just helped.

But Árpád knew that they _could_ turn the music into a compulsion- the Tylwyth had a tradition of sorcerers as musicians, not a very large one, but it was old and strong and Árpád knew it could be done. And unicorns were horses, almost, kind of; and they were _tudós pásztor,_ who knew the herds and the binding magic and _Nagymama_ had taught them other things, things about iron and the old shamans.

The things _Apa_ had taught them, too, about the ways that Honalenier did magic and humans’ folk ways; that was heavy on pattern and ritual even if the components got very subjective, and music was good at patterns. Especially _dance_ music.

So Árpád went ahead into one of the fast dances and put the full weight of their magic behind the music. The unicorn was completely helpless as soon as it heard the first note and started dancing in time, screaming in frustration as it was forced only where Árpád wanted it to go, carefully far away from anything it could attack.

The Jäger showed up then, charging down the mountain after the unicorn on their horses. They had a unicorn with them, too, one of the safe old black ones that was a person now, not a hunting machine. _That_ unicorn pulled up short when it saw it’s white cousin confined in the dance, posture radiating surprise and unease. The mist spirits flowed ahead of the other Jäger to reclaim the unicorn, and Árpád picked out a short strong pattern from the song to repeat again and again, holding the unicorn in place until the bridle was back on and one of the spirits had the unicorn firmly in hand.

The unicorn was deeply unhappy about being re-caught, but the now that the mist spirits had it again they were able to drag it back up the mountain without Árpád’s musical assistance, accompanied by the other Jäger.

Well, there were two who had hung behind. One of them, a Kommandant by his markings and Tylwyth by his style, said something at them. Árpád had no idea what it was.

“German, please?” Árpád asked.

“Greetings and thanks to you, kind stranger,” the Kommandant said, clearly repeating himself. “It has been some time since I encountered a sorcerous troubadour- tell me, who did you learn under?”

“No one, Kommandant, not like that,” Árpád told him. “I was taught about music and magic separately. It just naturally comes together for me.”

Arion came trotting back to the group and huffed at the black unicorn, who hadn’t left yet. Árpád had a moment of terror when the unicorn turned white; but as soon as it did it started _melting,_ collapsing and flowing into human shape, resolving into another Jager.

There was only one person _that_ could be, so then-

“Do you have a name?” the other mounted Jager asked. Árpád spent a minute to really look at his uniform. Only one person would have the Zauber Regiment’s purple collar tabs and a Leutnant’s sleeve chevrons; and it would make sense that he was wary of a mysterious sorcerer turning up out of nowhere.

“Árpád Héderváry, Zaubleutnant Agresta,” they said. “I followed _Nagymama_ ’s horses here to make sure they were doing all right.”

Zaubleutnant Agresta’s expression relaxed out of the distant wariness he’d had before at the introduction.

“And are they?” he asked.

“They are,” they confirmed. “But I had to be certain. And I like it here.”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Leutnant Beilschmidt asked, with more enthusiasm behind the question than Árpád would have expected. It sounded like he was bursting with pride. Árpád hadn’t thought anyone would feel so strongly about Martinach- it was _nice_ and all, and they did have their own Nation now so they guessed people had to have a lot of feelings about it, but they hadn’t really expected to encounter any of those people.

“I suppose,” Árpád told him, trying not to give offense. Hungary was better, but it wasn’t like they were going to tell him that.

The Kommandant said something to Zaubleutnant Agresta that wasn’t in German, but the language he’d originally tried to talk to him in, so Árpád had no way to follow it. It was probably the Trade Creole; but whatever was being said, Zaubleutnant Agresta nodded and looked back at them.

“Who’s your commanding officer?” he asked.

“I’m not in the Hunt,” Árpád had to tell him. “I just help out at the stables every morning and stay with the horses in the afternoon.”

The men stared at them, and they felt very small.

“They don’t know I’m not employed up at the stables,” they continued, a little quickly. “But all I do is help out and Arion said it was all right so I keep coming back.”

“You understand Arion?” the Kommandant asked, sounding very surprised.

 _Tylwyth royalty think they know everything,_ Arion told Árpád. _And just because his father was the last Jagdsprinz, he thinks he knows everything about the Hunt. Ignore him._

Zaubleutnant Agresta got a really funny look on his face, and told them to come up to the Workshop the next morning, instead of going to the stables.

“And bring the things you usually use for your magic,” he said.

* * *

Once everyone had settled into the engagement- Svana, perhaps, excluded; but Csaba barely ever saw her these days and he thought that probably no one else did either- the assignments passed down from parents to him and his fiancée got larger and more important.

Well, _project_ \- singular.

Csaba and Akane were put in charge of Navin Technologies’ end of the Venetian space expedition.

Csaba did not feel prepared to handle this. Finances were fine. Finances were good. Finances were math.

Project coordination was _difficult._ He had to talk to a bunch of people, all the time, and make sure everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing; and since this was a government contract, he _also_ had to make certain that no one was _talking_ about what they were doing.

That was the most difficult part, because Csaba had learned that scientists and engineers _loved_ to talk about what they were doing. It wasn’t like the art people he’d met at the parties, who would talk all about what they’d been doing _after_ they’d finished it and no one could take their ideas any longer. These people wanted everyone to know about this cool new thing they’d discovered, or a new way to do something that made it easier or cheaper or simpler.

Technically, this was a good thing that he was supposed to be fostering, because it was part of Navin Technologies’ corporate climate. It was also very good for research and development purposes- but for now they needed to keep a lid on it, and their employees were making that kind of difficult.

At least here in Venice he didn’t have to worry about that. All of _those_ people were back in Berlin, over a thousand kilometers away.

In Venice, all he had to worry about, immediately, was sharing a hotel room with his fiancée. He and Akane had kept their separate rooms back in Berlin, and this was the first time they’d have to share living space. They were sharing a bed for the first time, too, for practice and economy, and that had turned out to be _very_ awkward, at least until they’d both managed to fall asleep, on far sides of the bed.

“It had better be better than this when I have to get pregnant,” Akane told him the next morning. Csaba was inclined to think that it would be, because then they’d have something they were _doing_ to distract them from anything else.

They had called breakfast up to the suite and were eating in their pajamas, trying to chase last night away with the familiar feeling of the childhood sleep-overs they’d had, long ago, when most of the board was out doing business and there was only one parent around to look after them for a few days; or a sitter. It definitely helped, and they were actually able to hold a conversation while getting dressed- Akane in the bedroom, Csaba in the bathroom- about the meeting today.

“I’d feel better if I knew if they were planning on taking a planet deeded to humanity; or one to Honalee,” Csaba said as he pulled on his pants.

“No matter which one they pick, the settlement will have humans _and_ Honalenier,” Akane replied. “It’s Venice- they won’t be able to get away with it. But since this project _is_ registered under Venice’s name, I’d think it would have to be one of the human planets.”

“There are _sixty-five_ of those to Honalee’s nine,” Csaba said. “I was hoping that they’d pick a Honalenier one. It would make this easier.”

“Are you dressed?” Akane asked. “I have to do my hair.”

The meeting was in Palazzo Pisani Moretta, but not in Venice’s office, like they’d expected. Instead, they were led to a much larger room that contained a couple of tables pushed together and absolutely _covered_ in paper.

“Hello!” Venice greeted them cheerfully. “Come in, come in!”

His wife was there, too, and there was a little social dance of Honalenier manners before the meeting could really begin.

“We have looked over the information the Pict have provided,” Amphitrite Kataiis said, gracefully indicating the tables full of thick reports, large maps, and digest information sheets. “And we have a selected a few choices that best fit our needs.”

“How many?” Csaba asked, inwardly relieved. He’d _really_ been hoping that he wouldn’t have to help them the whole way through the decision process, and if they’d already gotten down to _‘a few choices’_ , his life would be much easier.

Venice pulled some digest sheets off of the nearest portion of the table.

“Qecarro, Greylea, Traevsabr, Theiostea, Haero, and Helike,” he told them. “Haero is closest, see-”

He pulled out a hand-drawn map of the Milky Way Galaxy. It was so simple that it was probably impossible to cross-reference with any _real_ maps- but Csaba doubted he’d really understand anything more complex.

“Earth is here, in the Orion Spur between the Perseus and Sagittarius-Carina Arms,” Venice said. “Haero is just over here, right in Sagittarius, spinwards of us and closer to the Galactic Core. Helike is third-closest, also in Sagittarius, but anti-spinwards.”

Spin and anti-spin were terms Csaba was familiar with, but he hoped he wasn’t going to have to do any math about them. He was good with physics equations that didn’t have a lot of variables and anything to do with money- there was a reason Navin Technologies let the astrophysicists do what they did and ran the company with people like him.

“Qecarro is second-closest, out on the Perseus arm, just a little anti-spinwards and further out than us. Greylea’s in Perseus, too; _and_ one of the Honalee planets, Griolara, shares a system with it. Traevsabr’s sort of really far away, on the Outer Arm, but see, there’s this nice curve from Helike to Earth to Traevsabr-”

He traced it on the map.

“So is your top pick Greylea or Haero?” Csaba asked. Between _‘closer’_ and _‘next to Honalenier territory’_ , he didn’t know which he’d pick.

“Neither,” Amphitrite said. “We believe the best choice is Theiostea.”

“It’s not _quite_ as far away as Traevsabr,” Venice said, and tapped the map on the Perseus arm, very near to the block of green shading that covered most of the Crux-Scrutum and Outer Arms, on the other side of the Galactic Core from Earth. “But it’s pretty well-placed right next to Pict Space.”

“ _‘Well-placed’_ is _‘right next to Pict Space’_?”Akane asked doubtfully.

“It is when the point is to corner interstellar trade,” he said, a little sharply.

Csaba made a mental note to ask the board if they knew that _this_ was why Venice wanted a settlement program.

“Helike is so much closer to Earth though,” Akane said. “And it’s also relatively close to Pict Space.”

“But it’s not on the path from the Pict homeworld,” Venice said.

“You _know_ where the Pict homeworld is?” Csaba asked, stunned. That would be dear information on Earth- the only person who maybe even _possibly_ knew where it was was Cassiel Navin, and he wasn’t talking.

“Well- not really,” Venice said. “But we know _generally_ where it is.”

He put his finger on a spot in the green area, out on the Crux-Scrutum Arm and almost not in the galaxy at all.

“It’s about here. And see-”

He drew the line from the approximate location of the Pict homeworld to Theiostea to Earth. It wasn’t quite a curve, but it almost made it.

“Helike doesn’t have that sort of path,” Venice said. “From Earth to Helike isn’t so bad; but from Helike to the Pict homeworld you have to make almost a straight line, and apparently straight lines are bad in space travel on this scale. Something about the cross-forces of the galactic spin- I’m still working on understanding it. From Earth to Theiostea to the Pict homeworld, you’re going against the galactic spin, but the curvature puts you where you want to be. On the way back, you’re going _with_ the spin, which makes it a lot easier.”

“So Theiostea, then,” Csaba said.

“Theiostea,” Amphitrite agreed. “All the planets in the Tripartite Treaty are guaranteed as habitable- and from the information we have been given, this does appear to be true- but our picks are the ones that give a mixed human and Thálassian group the best settlement options, and Theiostea is the best business pick of them all.”

“We’ll probably go to Qecarro next,” Venice said. “Or Greylea. It just depends how Theiostea goes.”

“On these maps of the planet,” Amphitrite began, and Venice grabbed the appropriate one for her, spreading it out over their legs. “We have identified what appears to be the best landing site.”

Csaba took a look at the area on the map. It was a small bay on the northwest side of a large gulf, formed by a thick, hooked area of land that jutted up from the south, and a long, thin strip coming down from the north, with a multitude of small islands on the gulf side of it. There was a narrow strait between the two bits of land that led into the bay. A large river flowed down from the north to empty into the bay around a few islands, making a delta; and another came from the south to empty right at the far southern join of the delta and the bay.

Akane had some aerial pictures of the same location, which gave a little more indication of the topography and surroundings. The southern river flowed out of the hills there, and the back end of the hook that formed the southern end of the bay was also blocked off from the gulf by large islands, making a sort of smaller, neighboring bay, ringed by high hills that wouldn’t make for very good harbors.

Between the rivers, the land seemed very flat, thick with green that was probably grass.

“Farmland?” Csaba guessed.

“So we have been told,” Amphitrite said.

“You seem like you’ll have enough of it,” Akane said. “What’s this?”

She pointed at a gray smudge on the far side of the north river, set right up between its bank and the bay shore, extending back along the coast towards the northern jut of land.

“Ghost town,” Venice told her, smile a little strained. “Probably ruins, now. It was a conquest of the Pict, after all.”

Which meant that the original inhabitants weren’t technically dead- but they weren’t going to come back and claim their planet, not when the Pict had assimilated them. They weren’t dead, and never really would be- but they weren’t particularly _alive,_ either. Csaba didn’t like thinking about that too much.

“The settlement will be here, by the base of the hills on the river,” Venice continued, indicating the spot on the map and the aerial photos. “There will be space to expand on this side of the river and into the hills, the bay is right there, and there’s farming just across the river. We’ll also put the spaceport on the other side of the river, too, just a little further upstream.”

“Let’s talk about the initial landing party, then,” Akane said. “You’ll start off with farmers, of course. Probably fishermen, and some miners.”

“Construction workers and engineers and architects and IT people; and a variety of scientists,” Csaba added.

“And artists,” Venice told them. “You can’t have a good place to live without artists.”

“How many families are you thinking of?” Csaba asked. “Teachers will have to hired on that basis, and infrastructure and building materials packed and shipped-”

The conversation went into logistics and minutiae, and when Csaba and Akane went back to Berlin at the end of the week, they had enough things to do based on the meetings to last them for _months._

* * *

Árpád showed up at the Workshop the next morning later than they would have liked, but the Workshop was a little hard to find. It wasn’t anywhere near the stables, and it wasn’t part of the Jagdshall, so they had to ask for directions.

Even with the signs everywhere, it made it hard to find anything. Clearly Jagdsberg hadn’t had a lot of planning and had just sort of _happened-_ there was the Jagdshall, of course, and it had a long road that ended in a big paved square that served as the heart of the area. The Departments’ shared headquarters building stood on the west side of the square, facing the Catholic Sankt Michelmarc’s on the other. Officer’s Row branched off to the north, headed back towards the Jagdshall and parallel to the road down the square, leading into Barrackstown. The road to the south, going past the smaller Swiss Reformed church that also fronted the square, led to Sebastianhaus, which was External Affair’s headquarters, and past all the Department’s repair shops and storage compounds and necessary satellite buildings.

Reasonably, Árpád had thought that the Workshop would be there, mixed into the Department buildings. Those were on the edge of the massive horse field near the Kennels, so they kind of knew what buildings were what already, so they’d thought it would be easy to find. It wasn’t; and they’d had to get directions from one of the Mail and Telecommunications officers, who’d pointed them towards Mechanics and Engineering, across the road that led to Sebastianhaus, who shared jurisdiction of the Workshop with the Zauber Regiment.

Mechanics and Engineering sent them around the back of the building and off towards what they thought was the forest, but turned out to be a large cleared area just behind a screen of trees to keep anyone visiting the cemetery behind Sankt Michelmarc’s, or just around to visit Sebastianhaus or Mechanics and Engineering.

The building, once they got inside, was a little confusing. It had seemed a bit large and very industrial from the outside, but inside was a stark lobby area, a small and unwelcoming-looking seating area over to the left of the door. The desk, which they’d taken as reception at first, proved on second look to be more like security. There was a severe-looking Husar Offizier sitting behind the desk, which had low barriers with swinging doors anchoring both ends to the walls, blocking off the area behind the desk, which was lined with lockers and a bookshelf, scarcely populated with binders. There was another Husar Offizier in a chair next to the heavy-looking door that led to the rest of the building.

“Name?” the Offizier behind the desk prompted when Árpád didn’t come over immediately. The one by the door shifted a little in her seat, watching them suspiciously.

“Árpád Héderváry,” they said. “Zaubleutnant Agresta asked me to come?”

The desk Offizier consulted the thin binder that was open on the desk in front of him and asked for identification. Árpád handed over their passport and the Offizier handed them a sheet to sign as they pulled out a white plastic card from a locked desk drawer, ran it through a desktop machine, and wrote _‘Árpad Héderváry’_ on the top half. The Offizier pressed a finger to two of the symbols on the bottom half above the etched metal strip at the bottom edge before handing it over, and Árpád could feel him applying a bit of magic to them.

“Security pass,” the Offizier told them. “Keep it on you at all times. You have keyed access to the Workshop floor, the conference room, and the Zaubleutnant’s office so long as neither of the doors have been locked. Always swipe your pass when you go through a door. If the Zaubleutnant wants you to have more access, he’ll activate the appropriate rooms for you, and you have to inform us on your way out where else you’ve been.”

“Thank you,” Árpád told him, and took the pass to the door. It was strange, hearing the reader beep to acknowledge the RFID strip on the pass but also react to the activated magic in the security symbols. Maybe this was _Apa_ ’s life was like, working at Navin Technologies.

The Workshop floor wasn’t as noisy as Árpád had thought it would be, but it was just as large as they’d thought. It looked like the Hunt had gotten their hands on a copy of the instructions to build a warehouse and built that before turning it into the Workshop- the floor was a scattering of stations and clusters of workbenches, separated from each other by low bookcases or even just yellow-and-black striped tape lines on the concrete floor. There were some machines going somewhere, and just behind everything they could hear the ring of a hammer on an anvil, and the air had a hint of chalk dust. The far wall looked oddly finished, with steel walls and doors that had both a pass reader and physical lock, for an actual metal key.

“Hey, Horsecharmer,” a familiar voice said.

Árpád’s heart did a funny thing as they returned Terenzia Agresta’s smile.

“It’s nice to see you again,” they told her. “I thought- Etele hasn’t been in the stables.”

“I’m on temporary reassignment from Venice,” she said. “C’mon, everyone else is waiting.”

Everyone else?

Terenzia led them to a door two to the left of the lobby’s. The little plaque next to the door was in the standard trilingual German-French-Trade Creole. The German read _‘Conference Room’_ , and they both keyed in.

There were five other people already in the room, including Zaubleutnant Agresta, at the head of the table. Terenzia pointed them towards an open seat open seat near the end next to a Zauber Kommandant, then went to go sit next to the head of the table where her father stood in front of the permanently-mounted whiteboard.

Árpád took their seat and tucked their violin under the chair so it would be out of the way. The small magic kit bag, almost identical to ones of everyone else around, went on the empty chair next to them.

“Now that we have everyone,” Zaubleutnant Agresta said, starting the meeting. “We’ll have introductions- name and capacity for now. I’m Zaubleutnant Nico Agresta, commanding officer of the Zauber Regiment and head of this project.”

Project?

Someone was going to explain soon, right?

“Kommandant Terenzia Agresta, 5th Reiter,” Terenzia said from her father’s right. “Temporarily reassigned from Venice.”

 “Kommandant Nantakash Harshaisha, 7th Husar,” the man sitting across from her said. The name sounded Kuberan to Árpád. “Temporarily reassigned from Ordon Khot.”

They bounced back across the table to the man sitting next to Terenzia. Clearly they were working their way down the table.

“Kommandant Slavadan Demyanev,” he said. “Commanding Zauber officer in Rome.”

“Kommandant Luisa Costa, commanding Zauber officer in Martinach,” was the woman sitting next to Árpád.

“Lana Walker-Kirkland; sorceress, teacher-”

The woman across the table smiled.

“-and professional consultant.”

“Um,” Árpád said. “Árpád Héderváry.”

Well, if Lana Walker-Kirkland called herself a sorceress, then they could say-

“ _Tudós pásztor_ \- cunning shepherd,” they hastily explained, though they doubted anyone else actually knew what that meant. “And horse trainer. And I don’t know why I’m here.”

“I would also like to know, Zaubleutnant,” Kommandant Harshaisha said. “I don’t see what 7th Husar could have to offer the Zauber Regiment, especially since they’re still in Ordon Khot.”

“I didn’t ask for you for your commands,” Zaubleutnant Agresta told them all. “This is a special exploratory project, and I wanted you all for the magic you can do. One of the Hunts’ jobs in enforcing the laws on magic, and the Jagdsprinz feels that, given the way the Hunt has changed from its original form, this particular duty can be better executed by a smaller, dedicated group. This project commission-”

He indicated them all with a sweep of his hand.

“-will determine the organization, skills, and training needed to form such a group. At the time of the project’s conclusion, you will all have the choice to return to your former positions, or to sign on with the new group.”

Árpád raised their hand.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t even met me for five minutes,” they told him. “How could you choose me?”

“I know your father; and he’s told me about you,” Zaubleutnant Agresta said. “And even if you _weren’t_ János Héderváry’s child, or if he hadn’t talked about you- you captured a unicorn with a few second’s notice by _fiddling._ I’d be keeping you around just for that.”

* * *

“You’re not sleeping well, either?” _Far_ asked one morning.

Csaba hadn’t. He’d been chalking it up to stress over the space project, and the date of the Martigny office opening creeping ever closer. That was the only thing he could think of that would make him feel so uneasy in the dark of the night, when everything had gone quiet and still.

“No,” he told his father. “What are you doing that’s keeping you up?”

“I’m not doing anything,” _Far_ said. “It’s János who’s not sleeping. He keeps muttering something about magic, but _I_ don’t feel anything.”

That was a little worrying, so he left his part of the day’s work to Akane for now and went to find his father. _Apa_ was down in his office, as usual- but he looked _terrible._

“ _Far_ said you weren’t sleeping well,” Csaba told him. “But you look like you haven’t been sleeping at _all._ ”

“I haven’t been,” _Apa_ muttered, slumped over his desk. “Not for _days._ I can barely stay awake but I can barely stay asleep.”

“You’ve been taking pills,” Csaba remarked, picking up an empty bottle from the desk. There were others in the trashcan, and he fished them out so they could soak the labels off before discarding them. No reason not be careful of personal information, especially personal _medical_ information. Someone could be going through their trash.

“It’s the only way I can go down, now,” _Apa_ told him. “But I still _dream._ Of your _Nagyapa_ ; and I don’t know _why._ I went to see _Mama_ and we talked about him, but that didn’t help. The dreams came back as soon as I left her house.”

“I could try to spell you asleep,” Csaba offered doubtfully.

His father waved him off.

“No, no,” he said. “I’ve tracked it down to something funny in the magic. That would probably make it worse.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well either,” Csaba told him. “And if it’s magic, maybe Cassiel Navin is up to something. I can go tell him to fix the shielding on his workshop.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” _Apa_ muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Would you, please?”

Csaba left the pill bottles soaking in his suite’s kitchen sink and took the elevator down to Cassiel’s office and workshop. The office was open but the heavy steel door to the workshop was locked, and he had to knock. When that didn’t get any answer, he pounded.

The door opened suddenly, just enough to let Svana out, and she shut it behind her again.

“What?” she demanded. “We’re doing things that shouldn’t be disturbed!”

“Things that could be leaking out of the shielding?” Csaba asked. “Because we’re pretty sure whatever you’re doing in there is messing up the magic out _here,_ and it’s keeping _Apa_ and me awake.”

Svana frowned sharply, looking a little disturbed.

“It _shouldn’t_ be,” she said. “I’ll make sure we check. Thanks for telling us.”

Csaba tried to edge into the workshop after her, to get a look of what was going on, but Svana leaned on the other side and forced it shut on him.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what you’re up to?” he yelled through the door.

“If we get it to work!” Svana yelled back. “Now go away!”

A couple of days later, Csaba came back down and taped a piece of paper informing her and Cassiel Navin that the shields _still_ weren’t working to the workshop door.

He got a memo back from Svana telling him that they’d _checked_ the shielding; and there was nothing wrong with it. They had some other sort of problem.

Csaba sighed to himself and took it to _Apa,_ and they put up shielding around their bedrooms _themselves._ Sleeping was easier after that, but Csaba would still wake up in odd hours of the night, unable to identify what had dragged him out of sleep, and unable to drift back under for fifteen minutes or more.

* * *

It had taken awhile for the project to start yielding results.

The first bottleneck to get through had been pooling everyone’s knowledge. Árpád had been very embarrassed to find that _they_ were the one with the broadest knowledge base. Zaubleutnant Agresta and Ms. Walker-Kirkland had been doing magical research for _decades_ with their _Apa_ \- but they hadn’t been _taught_ in the Honalenier ways, not like _Apa_ had been, and not like _Apa_ had taught them.

So it fell to them to instruct the other humans in the basics of Honalee magic- the use of music as ritual pattern, constructing written spells with the Irkallan script all the other Honalenier alphabets had been derived from, the few shielding and war magics that _Apa_ had managed to learn and pass on to them.

“Your father was very eclectic,” Kommandant Demyanev observed after he and Kommandant Harshaisha had sat in on an Irkallan lesson to fill in Árpád’s gaps. “I’m surprised he managed to learn much of anything at all.”

“We aren’t used to learning things as you do in Honalee, any more,” Árpád told him. Kommandant Demyanev was a product of the long and venerated Honalenier tradition of sorcerers- _‘Demyanev’_ wasn’t his patro- or matronymic, or his surname. It was his title, _‘student of Demyan’_. This sorcerer Demyan would have the name of _his_ teacher as his title, and that teacher would have had theirs, and on and on all the way back to Amphitrite and Wángmŭ, who had had _their_ lessons from Ereshkigal.

“That’s very clear,” Demyanev said, and sighed as he took another look at the human Jäger’s attempts to write Irkallan correctly.

Demyanev and Nantakash Harshaisha filled in quite a lot more of the traditional Honalenier magic, leaving only two things unaccounted for- the Ztoca magical engineering methods, which were trade secrets neither of them would learn, not being Ztoca; and the secrets kept by the Dvergr and King Andvari.

Which was where Árpád came in again, because part of what _Nagymama_ had taught them, the traditional Hungarian things, turned out to match some of the rumors of the secrets.

So Árpád taught them what they knew about working magic with and into iron, which was a long, arduous process, requiring both delicacy and raw strength to make it stick. The project basically occupied the Workshop’s forge space for a couple of weeks in a row as Árpád made project demonstrations out of charms- demonstrations that eventually had all of the Workshop, project and not, taking notes- going more and more complex until they worked their way up to forging a knife.

Making a knife by itself wasn’t difficult, not if you had practice, but making a magical weapon was always an uphill battle. 

By the time they’d finished forging and etching the knife, containing one simple spell to keep it from getting stolen, and had moved on to wrapping the handle and sharpening the blade, Demyanev and Nantakash had matching strained expressions. If they’d been Catholic, Árpád thought, they would have crossed themselves and muttered a prayer.

“That is Seppo Ilmarinen’s work,” Nantakash said, when Zaubleutnant Agresta pushed. “ _King’s_ work. Horsecharmer is no King, _Seelenkind_ they may be.”

“On Earth, Lintukoto is a place out of Finnish mythology,” Zaubleutnant Agresta told him. “The Hungarians are related to the Finns- I’m not surprised Hungary knew enough about forging magic weapons to pass onto Árpád.”

“It’s really not _good_ work,” Árpád tried to reassure them. “This is no more trespassing on _Razanás_ Ilmarinen’s work than warming up a room would be on _Razanás_ Perun’s.”

After the forging demonstrations, Árpád was obliged to talk some on shamanism. The Honalenier were much more at ease with this, and Nantakash even had some things to contribute about this, being of Kuberan birth. Lanka Kubera had regular contact with the Steppe, and the Steppe was the only place in Honalee that really _specialized_ in soul magic. This wasn’t of very much use to the project, though notes were diligently taken for the Workshop’s library and records storage, but it was the last thing Árpád had to do, specifically, so it was a nice thing to end on, even if shamanism could get a little strange and confusing.

The second bottleneck came after the obvious paths of subduing a renegade sorcerer- a witch- were brought up and refined. The Kuberan powder was obvious, as were the iron collars and cuffs. Zaubleutnant Agresta had an herb mixture he’d gotten from Romania that the Nation swore had been useful against a variety of undead creatures and even, on one occasion, Cassiel Navin. Árpád memorized that one carefully, and made himself a pouch of it to keep on hand next to the mix of salt, gunpowder, bone dust, carefully-selected wood and herb ashes, and fine iron filings the project had developed as the optimal anti-magic formula.

While they waited for inspiration on more technical avenues to explore, the basic kit- to supplement the personal magic kit- was put together: a pouch each of salt, Kuberan powder, the Romanian mix, and the anti-magic dust; a jar of gum arabic and a brush, to fix patterns done in the anti-magic dust to a solid surface; a jar of distilled water for a basic, simple magical cleansing or to wet down the dust for a temporary spell; a box of matches, a back-up lighter, and flint and steel, for making fire; a couple of vials of oil blended for their properties, to be used for anointing or setting things on fire; coils of gold, silver, steel, bronze, brass, lead, and tin, for various purposes both resolute and affinity; polished bits of tiger iron, tigerseye, hematite, amber, iron, and lapis lazuli, for protection; a hand mirror for use in ritual deflecting spells; a flat, polished disk of obsidian, useful for various purposes; some spools of thread, in undyed, white, and red varieties, very versatile; a length of white linen-silk blend, to use as marking an area to work spells; and a small hand brush, to clean up after yourself.

The project kit was significantly bulkier than most people’s personal magic kits, which were less of a storage solution and more of an emergency bag, but Árpád was used to walking around with their violin, by this point, and the project kit wasn’t much different.

Through September and November of 2085, they improvised off of the war magics Árpád knew, the traditions handed down to Demyanev, the practices Nantakash knew from Kubera, and the research that the human Jäger had been doing. These were simple things, most effective when used as a sudden tactical strike your opponent had no time to prepare against or avoid; or with more power behind a single casting than your opponent could use to block it. The Jäger practiced these in conjunction with their guns and officer’s knives and swords.

Árpád took their violin to them, which wasn’t exactly the most _practical_ thing, but was very effective. The advantage of doing magic through music in rushed circumstances was that the _idea_ of a pattern, which was made rituals powerful, was built in, even if you weren’t following a pattern any more involved than improvising for effect on the spot.

The disadvantage was that you couldn’t defend yourself while playing a violin.

Árpád experimented with whistling, which left their hands free for other things but wasn’t good for having to move around a lot since it took a lot of air and it was actually kind of hard to keep going for a long time. They tried the harmonica, which sounded kind of silly but worked a lot better than whistling.

The problem again was, of course, that their hands were occupied once more.

They were still trying to think of a solution for this when, during one of the experimenting sessions, Terenzia slipped deftly in front of them with her knife in one hand and a flash-bang spell in the other and knocked Luisa Costa off-balance enough that Árpád was able to tangle her up in the music, and then harry Demyanev into losing the knife-fight and have Terenzia’s blade pressed lightly against the carotid artery in his throat- a winning move.

The project had done pair exercises before, but not like this, with one partner’s offense working as defense for the _other’s_ offense.

“Never get caught alone, I guess,” Zaubleutnant Agresta said happily in the post-exercise meeting. From then on, they practiced in pairs- they did get mixed up, for variety, but usually it was Terenzia and Árpád, Demyanev and Luisa, and Nantakash and Lana. Every so often Zaubleutnant Agresta would take on a pair by himself, or break up a pair and have the odd person out go solo, or join a pair to make a trio; but usually he refereed and took the notes.

By December, they knew the group the project would spawn would be based on units to two, three, or four for basic operations. One-on-one with a witch would not and _could_ not be advised- more likely than not, the _‘wrong’_ person would lose. Having more numbers made the work easier, faster, and safer.

Well, Zaubleutnant Agresta would probably be fine all by himself; but that was because he could just rot his opponent alive in thirty seconds or so and take apart anything they were using, wearing, breathing, or standing on apart molecule by molecule.

It was very unfair.  

The project committee got all of December, starting Sunday the second week of the month, off- partially because Zaubleutnant Agresta said they all needed a break, and partially because the second week of the month was the start of the Dranse Winter Market in Martigny, which was matched in Nysa by a winter festival.

And Terenzia actually _invited them along._

True, Luisa was coming too, with her friend Lady Odette von Rothbart, but Árpád was pretty sure Luisa and Lady von Rothbart were going to go off on their own, since Luisa had been talking about how little time she’d had to spend with her friend now that she was on the project committee.

So eventually it would be _just them and Terenzia,_ walking around the Dranse Winter Market and probably Nysa, like an _actual date._

Árpád did not know what to do. Horses didn’t give good dating advice.

They’d had to call _Nagymama_ to ask _her,_ and first they had to get thought a slew of questions about _how was Martinach, how were the horses, do you have any friends tell me about them, you’re doing a project for the Hunt that’s **wonderful** wait does that mean you’ve **joined**_ until they could finally ask about dating.

“Go have fun,” _Nagymama_ had told them. “Talk a lot, and _not_ about work, have some food- maybe give her a gift, but don’t go into it thinking of it as a date, unless you ask beforehand if that’s what this is and she says yes. It might be a little awkward if you’re both wanting different things, but good intentions and good behavior will keep anything from turning into a disaster.”

Árpád had thought very hard about this. They liked the idea of giving Terenzia a present, but the presents they could think of were all things you’d give someone you were dating, not a friend. The knife they’d forged for the demonstration might have been a good option, but they’d sent it to _Nagymama_ as a present, sort of in return for the knife she’d made them, years ago.

But they still had the charms from the demonstration, for protection and health and luck. They looked pretty all on their own, but with a chain and some wire- gold was always powerful magic, and copper was a magic amplifier, besides being used for healing and beauty and charm.

Terenzia was certainly charming.

And beautiful.

The day the Dranse Winter Market opened, Árpád gave Terenzia the necklace they’d made out of the demonstration charms and the wire, which was hammered flat in some places and other places twisted together or into designs, weaving the iron charms together.

Terenzia thought it was beautiful, and put it on right away- and sure enough, Luisa and Lady von Rothbart wandered off on their own after a while.

When they did, Terenzia grabbed their hand, and Árpád went all fluttery inside. They walked around the displays, admiring but not buying, and got hot food before Terenzia asked if they wanted to go to Nysa. Árpád had kind of expected to, and so they went.

They were just in time for the dancing part of the festival, and Terenzia pulled them out onto the dancing area and neither of them actually knew the dances, though Árpád knew some things about Hungarian folk dance and Terenzia had picked up a few things about Honalenier popular dance from living with the Hunt her whole life, so they managed. After a few sets, through some sort of mysterious persuasion- Terenzia had been dancing the _entire time_ they’d been there, when had she had time to go talk to the musicians?- Árpád found himself being handed someone else’s violin to play with the others.

“It’s tradition!” Terenzia told him brightly, cheeks flushed from the cold and the exercise. Her necklace sparkled in the reflected light from the snow. “If you know how to play well enough for a dance, you take a few rounds with the band!”

So Árpád played a Hungarian dance, and then an Austrian one, and then went to a waltz and came back around to folk dances, the rest of the musicians matching them on the waltz and either catching on with the others or improvising around it.  

“I’d never played with others before,” Árpád told Terenzia when they finally left Nysa, after dark had fallen.

“You did a good job of it,” Terenzia told them, and, _oh-_ a kiss.

On the cheek; but a kiss, and a goodbye hug, and a _‘thank you for the necklace’_.

It seemed like maybe things were going somewhere.

* * *

Csaba and Akane got married in April of 2086, to great society fanfare and the official, formal announcement that they were the legal heirs to Navin Technologies. That put them immediately on lists of Important Prospective Guests around the world, for just about _everything-_ they were a young couple with one of the largest estimated values on the planet and heirs to the only market in technomancy and the only _real_ competitor in the spaceflight industry.

Their honeymoon was actually the full month implied by the name; the first two weeks in a very discreet hotel in Nice, and then the last two in a different one in Aix-en-Provence.

Counting backwards, they figured that they’d managed to get Akane pregnant somewhere around the first days in Aix-en-Provence. Throughout the pregnancy, the Venetian project got temporarily shelved in favor of finishing up the Mars program- the last of the initial terraforming was scheduled to be finished by February of 2087, and the last group of people before the terraforming of the second, larger area of the planet was set to go up in March.

On the eighteenth of January 2087, Akane Honda-Ásdísdottir Brynjarsson gave birth to Ida Alexandra Honda-Brynjarsson in Berlin. The financial succession of the company, Csaba thought with relief in Akane’s hospital room, was secure.

At least for another twenty years or so, when it would be time for Ida to start thinking about a spouse to secure it again for a fourth generation. It would be a lot more difficult to find someone suitable for her than it had been for his and Akane’s parents- there weren’t any convenient infants with magical potential around for her to grow up with; and ideally they’d have someone with a full magic heritage. He himself had a three-fourths heritage, from _Apa_ and _Far_ ; and Akane had one-fourth from _Oba_ Tomoko, so Ida had four of eight grandparents with full magical potential so the upper range on her potential would be 50% and the lowest range would be at about 20% of a Nation; and that 20% would just _barely_ get her by, magically-speaking. When her magic panned out, they’d know, and they could better calibrate the scale-

Anyway, he reminded himself, no matter how Ida turned out, he’d have to keep an eye out for some suitable Honalenier, or maybe some Jager’s fey child if nothing else worked, to edge the percentages up in her children. The Martigny office would be good for that, once it finally _opened._ The date had been pushed back again, and now it was set for 2089, almost four years behind the original schedule.

Maybe he and Akane and Ida could move out there for a decade or so, to get her some exposure to potential appropriate candidates. Or, wait, _Apa_ had said that the Princess of Liechtenstein had basically fostered her son out to the Hunt in Martigny, and _he’d_ found his wife there. Maybe they could wait until Ida was fifteen or sixteen and then send her to one of the private boarding schools that was now inside the borders of Martinach. There might even be one specifically for fey children, or with dedicated magic classes, by the time she was old enough for that. Lana Walker-Kirkland had been making an impression with her school, and fifteen years from now would be plenty of time for Martinach to have a public school system up and running, and solid policies on education standards-

But he could start worrying about that in a couple of years.

The next few days was visits from Csaba and Akane’s Nation grandparents, and moving back into their apartments with Svana’s help, and a post-birth dinner and afters with the board to celebrate Ida’s birth and their new status as grandparents. Even Cassiel Navin showed up, but only for the afters and just for a little bit, every so often looking at Ida in a way that made Csaba very uncomfortable. He was glad for the way _Apa_ barely stopped glaring at the man until he left. He’d been contemplating doing something rude by then to get him to leave, like confronting him about the still bad shielding on his workshop and the way whatever he was doing _clung_ to him whenever he came out to attend board meetings, or to the papers and things he brought with him. Just because he’d gotten _used_ to not sleeping that well didn’t mean he _liked_ it at all.

 In February, the Mars terraforming wrapped up right on schedule, and the families set to go up at the beginning of March were ready and waiting to go. Csaba and Akane had also gotten back to working on the Venice settler program.

Now that Mars was finished- on their end, the last group of families going up to the colony were going to start and manage the second round of terraforming themselves- it was time to begin constructing the ship that would take the Venetian settlers to Theiostea.

This also meant they had to schedule a meeting with Serafina DiAngeli, which Csaba was not enthusiastic about at _all._

* * *

After the December break, the focus moved from magical fights to bindings. The iron cuffs and collar were effective once they were _on;_ but the difficulty was getting a witch in the position to apply them in the first place.

Árpád was the one who had the best luck with binding, to the surprise of everyone but themself.

“It’s being a _tudós pásztor_ ,” they told the others. “This is part of what I do. It’s part of my duty.”

“Your duty, hm?” Zaubleutnant Agresta asked, and Árpád didn’t really know what was up with that tone but they had a sinking suspicion that it was because he’d figured out that they and his daughter were courting.

It was definitely courting, and not dating, or _‘seeing each other’_ ; because for all that it was kind of formal it was very fun. There were lots of walks, and music, and horses, and dancing at Nysa, and snuggling in the apartment that Árpád rented now, and doing different things in the same room as each other just to be nearby. There wasn’t anything they could see for Zaubleutnant Agresta to be worried about, or upset at, but they had heard that parents got irrational about this sort of thing.

 _Nagymama_ certainly seemed a lot more enthusiastic about this than she needed to be.

The best suggestion the committee had for the binding problem was using the thread from the kit to use as a physical anchor or focus for the magical binding, but the thread was easy to break and it needed time for concentration. It was a good temporary measure, while you waited for someone else to show up with the irons, but it wasn’t anything you wanted to use long-term.

February came with an unwelcome sort of discovery.

The Hunt’s officer knives were steel, the theory went. Steel wasn’t pure iron, which was why you could put magic in it, but it had enough iron in it that it was good for use as an anti-magic device. There was never a time that a Jager officer would be in uniform without their knife, so if it could be useful for the project’s business- why not?

Blood magic was- probably- the easiest and most powerful sort of magic to do; and blood had so many magical connotations that you could use it for practically anything _and_ it was good for contagion-work. If you drew a witch’s blood, as a Jager, with a tool of your authority in the Hunt that was largely _based_ on blood magic, then wouldn’t it all be _extra_ effective?

Exactly the sort of power that you’d want to have behind a binding spell, and based in a substance that the witch couldn’t get away from if they tried?

This was deemed too potentially dangerous for anyone but Zaubleutnant Agresta to take the leading role in. It was clear to everyone that he would have preferred to take Lana as his partner, but Lana wasn’t a Jager. Terenzia was a good second choice- but she was his daughter. He wouldn’t fight _her,_ not in earnest, and not with a blade. So that left Demyanev, a trained Honalenier sorcerer and one of his own Kommandants, to face off against him.

Things went well enough until first blood, which went to Demyanev. In theory, an application of some magic was what was needed for an immediate binding- which had the possible danger of being _permanent,_ since they were using blood, so all they were going to do was use some magic to see how plausible attaching a spell to someone’s blood that was still in them using blood they’d shed was.

Demyanev started to use some magic on Zaubleutnant Agresta’s blood on his blade; but in the moments between registering the blood and making the conscious decision to do something with it, Zaubleutnant Agresta was _still bleeding,_ and still in fighting mode.

Shed blood was conduit to power. The most basic blood magic was shedding your own, and in the focus of the fight, the Zaubleutnant saw no problem in using wounds inflicted on him by someone else to access more power. He broke the spell Demyanev was just starting to construct and caught the Kommandant on his own blade.

Now they were _both_ bleeding, and both keyed up with magic, and it turned into blood magic and soul magic together, the very foundation of the Hunt and they were Jäger; and the more they hurt each other the more magic both had at their disposal.

They were all starting to wonder if maybe they should intervene, because the two of them didn’t really seem like stopping, when Terenzia gasped suddenly, sharply, and her eyes went wide with horror.

“ _Papá_!” she exclaimed urgently; but he showed no signs of hearing her. She turned to the rest of them. “He’s not just using his _own_ blood; he’s using Demyanev’s too-!”

That little prompt was enough for the rest of them to recognize what was going on. Zaubleutnant Agresta and Kommandant Demyanev had gotten themselves stuck in a sort of power-intensifying feedback loop- the more they were hurt, the more magic they had at their disposal; and the more they hurt the _other,_ the more magic they had available by fighting their opponent for control of the magic leaking from _their_ damaged body-soul bound. If they didn’t _stop_ fighting each other, they would just keep going until they both died from bleeding out.

The rest of them had to physically pull them apart and bandage them up before Zaubleutnant Agresta and Demyanev could shake themselves free of focusing on the magic.

“It was like Hunting,” Demyanev murmured, looking a little dazed. “It felt like the Italian armies, just a little-”

Zaubleutnant Agresta refused to speak, much to the worry of Terenzia, and Árpád tried to comfort her. Ms. Walker-Kirkland went off for a few minutes and came back with his wife, whom he leaned into wordlessly as she held him.

“He said it felt like the _camorristi_ ,” Terenzia confided to Árpád later, that night after dinner together. “He said he _knew_ he had enough power to kill Demyanev, and he _liked_ it, even if he had enough of a clear head left to remember why he shouldn’t. But he wasn’t sure how long he could have kept that bit of himself.”

“I will never do that, then,” Árpád promised her, and themself.

Eventually, they started to give up on the idea of finding different ways to bind witches. It was easier to kill them, or knock them out, than to endanger yourself using time to concentrate on a temporary binding; or get yourself killed working blood magic and slipping into going power-drunk.

* * *

The trip of the last group up to Mars was, unfortunately, the ideal time and place to meet with Serafina DiAngeli.

“Someone from the company should be there to give a speech anyway,” Akane had pointed out reasonably, near the middle of February. “The colony is only _technically_ being turned loose from Navin Technologies now that everything is mostly self-sustaining. We’re the heirs, so we should go. And taking Ida with us proves that we _mean_ it when we say that Mars is safe for families.”

Csaba disliked the idea of taking Ida to Mars almost as much as meeting Serafina DiAngeli there, but it was good sense and they were all very sure of the safety of the flight, landing, and colony- so they went. At a 225,300,000 kilometer distance with a burst drive that did bursts of approximately 200,000 kilometers that came out to 1,126 full bursts with some time tacked on for acceleration to and deceleration from safe distances at either end with top speeds of 200 kilometers a minute and a minimum safe burst distance 800 kilometers from Earth that was 99,200 kilometers to Mars at the end of the last burst, again with 200 kilometers a minute the top speed; so four minutes to safe burst distance, approximately 1,126 minutes in bursts, and 496 minutes from the end of the last burst to Mars for a total of 1,626 minutes divided by sixty minutes in an hour to twenty-seven and some hours for the total trip.

“Stop with the math,” Akane told him gently, three hours and 35,200,800 kilometers in. “I can tell you’re doing it in your head again and stressing yourself out. Go to sleep or something.”

They got to Mars in twenty-seven and a half hours, and by twenty-eight hours from leaving Berlin Csaba was giving his speech to the community of the Mars colony. Until hour twenty-nine it was the speech and a little party, and hour twenty-nine to hour thirty he and Akane and Ida spent in their rooms in the ship, resting.

At thirty hours and fifteen minutes from leaving Berlin, Csaba and Akane had their meeting with Serafina DiAngeli in the colony’s fanciest room and he _really_ needed to stop doing math in his head, he _did,_ it was distracting and this was an important meeting.

“Venice has chosen to go to Theiostea,” Akane told Serafina DiAngeli, and Csaba wondered if she was thinking of the pictures with the ghost city too. “We need the navigation computers you promised and the coordinates to the planet.”

“Already given,” Serafina said; and wow, did she not realize how to _smile_ normally? Her expression was overdone to the point of creepy. “The computers are being loaded into your ship now, and I have the coordinates here.”

She passed them a piece of paper with a string of numbers written on them.

“The first is the distance in kiloparsecs from the Galactic Core to Theiostea,” she explained. “The second degrees spin- or anti-spin, in your case, which is a negative number; and the third degrees up or down. All of the coordinates are set up thus, so you should have no problems with the directory memory banks that come included. They have also been adjusted so that Earth lies at zero degrees spin and zero degrees on the up-down axis.”

“Thank you,” Akane said for them; and Csaba tried not to think that the Speaker for the Pict was being especially underhanded with this _‘favor’_ of calibrating the coordinates to make Earth their directional baseline. Presumably they’d been central on the Pict homeworld before, and now they wouldn’t have any way to calculate where it was- and if they ever, for whatever reason, came into possession of a Pict ship, the navigational computers wouldn’t sync, leaving them completely unable to use it.

“An interesting choice, Theiostea,” Serafina mused. “Though I _do_ find myself a little unsurprised.”

“Because of the trade plans?” Csaba asked, trying for polite small talk so he’d stop _thinking._

“No,” Serafina disagreed. “The history. Theiostea was the most exemplary of the planets we came to conquer until Earth, and the only- well. I wouldn’t quite say _failure._ ”

 _This_ was something that sounded worth knowing, and Csaba tried not to look too interested. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not, but Serafina continued on.

“Do you know _why_ we let you go?” she asked.

“I was told,” Akane said carefully. “That it was because Venice surprised you with emotions; or maybe individualism.”

Serafina sniffed in disdain.

“Individualistic species are incredibly self-centered,” she told them. “I don’t understand how you manage to survive. _No,_ that was not it. We are Pict in the plural, and well-acquainted with the idea of individuality. It is not for us; except in extenuating and extraordinary circumstances.”

She gestured to herself.

“And we are _quite_ aware of emotions as well, I will have you know,” she continued. “No. It was because we had already assimilated all the other Nations; and here was this one. One defiant. Scared, but walking among us without terror. It was- disconcerting. It was a _reminder_. We had felt this same as Nations before, this connection between people and an other, with the Ramman. The only ones who ever escaped us. So we let you be, rather than buy ourselves trouble.”

“There are _other_ aliens?” Csaba asked, slightly alarmed.

“No,” Serafina said. “Not here; not any longer. Theiostea was their home planet, and the center of their trade empire. They had every planet in the Tripartite Treaty connected by their junket-gates, a confederacy sharing a common trade language and alphabet. They smashed the gates after we had assimilated but a few of their number we found exploring the edge of the area we have claimed as our space, and by the time we got to Theiostea, the planet was deserted. The Ramman, and the Empress they regarded as their god and the builder of their gates and their empire, had disappeared; and we have not seen them anywhere in the galaxy since.”

“So they could still _be_ there, hiding, on Theiostea,” Akane said.

“Oh, I doubt it some,” Serafina said. “We have searched the planet for them, but-”

She smiled again, and it was no more reassuring a second time than it had been the first.

“You _will_ tell us if you find them, won’t you? It would be such an interesting thing to meet them again.”

“But if they’re there they’ll want their planets back!” Csaba exclaimed.

“And this is no longer our problem,” Serafina said, still smiling. “All the territory the Ramman could claim as their own is now in _your_ hands, as enshrined in the Tripartite Treaty. Our borders are exactly what they were before we encountered the Ramman.”

Csaba and Akane excused themselves swiftly from the meeting after that.

“I think this is how _Far_ must have felt after learning about the Pict,” Csaba told Akane after they ship had taken off to go home. He was curled up in his seat, feeling sick to his stomach. “I can’t- _God,_ they’ve fucked us over and the whole time we thought we were _winning!_ ”

“They said they wanted company in the stars,” Akane said, clutching Ida. “But they’d _been_ disguised as humans for a while already; they _had_ to have known that they’d need a treaty to deal with us, and we’d be extremely suspicious of anything that even _looked_ like we were being played for fools, so they gave us planets and they gave us space travel-”

“Just so they could dump all their problems on us,” Csaba finished for her. He felt nauseous. “ _God._ And we _can’t_ back out now, we’ve claimed legal ownership of those planets and there’s an entire colonization plan underway; Venice has sunk too much money into it to leave without destroying itself. They _have_ to colonize Theiostea to make back the investment. _God._ ”

Somehow, they held it together until they got back to Berlin, where they called an emergency board meeting and managed to hold off breaking down into tears for a full seven minutes, which was how long it took them to get to: “They set us up for an interplanetary _war_ when the Ramman turn up again!”

The next morning, Csaba gave his father a copy of the meeting conversation as verbatim as he could remember it, to pass on to Nico Agresta and through him to the Jagdsprinz. The Hunt and Honalee was supposed to be humanity’s protection against the Pict, and this was a complication they _had_ to be aware of- especially when deciding which Jäger to send.

A second copy went to Venice, and Csaba just hoped that it wouldn’t cause any problems that couldn’t be solved.

* * *

This was the _fifth year_ of the project committee, and Árpád was honestly surprised when Zaubleutnant Agresta announced that it was time for the final evaluations.

“The best alternate idea we’ve got for the irons is Lana’s, about Tartarus,” he said in their weekly meeting. “It’s not bad, and just needs some testing; but that’s not enough to hold up final evaluations any longer. You’re all competent at ritual magic and _definitely_ the best at magical dueling-”

“Because we’re the _only_ ones who have any practice in it,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland said.

“That still means we’re the best,” Zaubleutnant Agresta told her. “So we’re going to combine the final evaluations with a trip to Tartarus to pick up some samples for testing later. We’ll do evaluations there, as a demonstration to the Jagdsprinz. It’s auspicious ground for it, given what the history of the place is. We’ll go in two weeks.”

Well then.

This was it.

The project was wrapping up, and soon it would be its own group in the Hunt- the Witchbreakers, it was going to be called. There would be an official unit that was always on duty as Witchbreakers, but people like Terenzia and Nantakash, Jäger officers who weren’t part of the Zauber Regiment but had some magic to their name, could take the training and be in reserve, their uniform collars and the area between the sleeve cuff stripes white instead of black to mark their status. 

So Árpád had some thinking to do.

“Terenzia,” they asked her that night, in their apartment. Terenzia was over for dinner, and to stay the night. It was a common occurrence, now. “Why did you become a Jager?”

“My parents were both in it,” she told them. “And Arik was always going to join, and Odette is Tylwyth royalty, and Vasco and I were being trained in magic, and the Hunt was the only place you could really use that. It wasn’t really like there were any other options for me-”

She paused.

“Well, there _were_ , and _Papá_ and _Mamma_ would _never_ have forced me to join the Hunt, even if _Tante_ Nia would allow it, so it was more like it never _felt_ like I had any other real options, you understand?”

Árpád wasn’t sure they did, really; but maybe it was like horses. There had been no hope that they would have done anything else with their life once they’d started working with horses.

The project didn’t have formal meeting and practice and experimentation times now, since they were looking at the end of if all, so Árpád took an afternoon that hadn’t been free in _ages_ to go up to the stables. They brought their violin, though they didn’t plan on playing it- taking the violin along was ingrained habit now, just as much as picking up the Witchbreaker kit on the way out the door and slinging it over their shoulder- and took István out for a ride, into Honalee and over Nysa Canyon to trot along beside the train tracks of Nysa station and race the train as it pulled out towards Paititi.

After the train left, Árpád nudged István into going back to the Huntsroad, and headed up it towards the Tree and the Well at the end, joining some the traffic headed to and from Nysa.

The Tree was guarded now, and Árpád had heard the story from Terenzia about Luisa, and knew that Tree guard duty was punishment duty for misbehavior in prospective or confirmed Jäger; so they stopped István off the road but far enough away from the Tree not to be a disturbance to anyone, and sat and stared at it for a while.

After not too long, they took out their violin and started playing, softly. It was nothing difficult, just something to do while they thought.

The guard had switched out on the Tree by the time Árpád was done thinking. They packed up and rode István back to the stables, taking a pick to his hooves and checking his shoes, taking off his tack and putting it away, and giving him a thorough grooming. István was incredibly pleased by all of this attention, and made it known by wuffing around in Árpád’s hair.

They got him some oats and gave him a goodbye hug before closing the stall door behind them and walking off to a different stable building, the one closest to the Jagdshall that was mostly open space for the fey horses, but had a partitioned off area with its own external door in one corner.

Árpád didn’t go to the external door- it wasn’t for their use- and came in through the stables, knocking on the partition before slipping inside.

“Arion,” they asked. “Would you still take my petition to join the Hunt to the Jagdsprinz?”

 _It took you long enough, Horsecharmer,_ Arion said.

* * *

The Martigny branch was due to open in just under three weeks, and it was going to be the biggest and most important one outside of Berlin, surpassing the Stuttgart office. Originally, the space program had been based out of Berlin, but then it had been moved to Stuttgart because of the work the company was doing for the VRG, and now it was going to move again, to Martigny, for better access to the necessary magical talent. Stuttgart would keep the VRG’s portion of the space program, but the research and development would go to Martigny.

So that meant that he and Akane _had_ to be there, and as much of the board as it was possible to bring. _Far_ and _Apa_ were already free- _Apa_ had said something about already having plans to make time to go down anyway, because apparently Árpád had joined the Hunt, which nobody had told _Csaba_ about- and _Frænka_ Ásdís had made the time. _Oba_ Tomoko was going to stay in Berlin just in case of emergencies, which meant Cassiel Navin was the only hold-out.

“It’s understandable,” _Apa_ sighed when Csaba came to him about the difficulties. “Nia still hasn’t forgiven him for Arik, and with the way she keeps grudges, if she shows up it’ll be a shouting match. Nobody needs that, and neither of them would really _want_ that, if there was any chance they’d stop and _think_ about their public image before they got into it. I’ll talk to Nico and see what _he_ can do.”

So Csaba let it go in favor of approving the plans for the opening ceremony, the food and the press presence and the guests, and eventually _Apa_ got back to him with the news that Nico and the Jagdsprinz were going to be out in Honalee on business about the time of the opening ceremony, and though he wasn’t entirely certain how long they’d be gone there was a decent chance they’d miss the ceremony; and if they didn’t he completely understood about grudges and try to convince her not to go.

Csaba went down to the Cassiel Navin’s workshop to tell Svana to tell him that he was as safe to come to Martingy without fuss as they could arrange, Svana wasn’t the one who answered his customary pounding on the door. Cassiel was the one who opened it this time, just enough that Csaba could see his face.

“What on _Earth_?” Csaba demanded, momentarily forgetting his manners at the _smell_ he’d caught in the draft from the door opening. Cassiel Navin had turned more and more into a recluse over the last few years, basically since he’d acquired Svana to act as a go-between for him and the rest of the world, always holed up in the lab doing something- but that no reason to forego basic living standards. It smelled like something had gone _died_ in there. “Take out your trash!”   

Cassiel looked aggravated at that.

“I _did_ ,” he said.

“Then keep the door open to air out the room, or something,” Csaba told him. “Maybe _you’ve_ gotten used to the scent, but it _smells_ to the rest of us. Maybe take a shower-”

“I _have_ been.”

“Well, _Apa_ talked to Nico Agresta and he says that the Jagdsprinz is going to be out in Honalee during the opening ceremony, so you can come without worrying about anything,” Csaba said, fudging the truth just a little bit. The board had taught him that you had to do that sometimes, to get Cassiel Navin to do what you wanted. This, he’d reflected a little bitterly after learning about the way humanity had been manipulated, made the man’s relationship with the Pict make _so_ much more sense. “So make sure you’re presentable for that. Is Svana going to come?”

“No,” Cassiel Navin said as he shut the door.

* * *

Árpád had only just started to get used to their uniform and their new rank as an Offizier of the Hunt- as of yet unassigned, but no one _seriously_ thought that the Witchbreakers wouldn’t be approved, so it was understood that that would be their assignment; and if, through some strange twist of fate, the Witchbreakers _didn’t_ get approval, they would just go work at the stables full-time, instead of part-time, as they had been doing.

The trip to Tartarus was planned to take two days; the first for arrival and gathering the supplies, the second for the demonstration and evaluations. They would overnight in Orcus, so they brought camping supplies- thankfully devoid of food, given that they were using their mounts as pack animals for the trip, as well. Kore Despoina would be feeding them.

They left for Tartarus after a large brunch, heading into Honalee and then west through the Jägerskov, in the opposite direction of Nysa, riding down the long, gradual incline of the land the forest had grown up on until they came to the large hills that blocked Orcus off from the rest of Honalee. The hills were pleasant riding, and Árpád approved of glimpses of Orcus they got through gaps in and over the crests of the hills. It was cross-country riding until they found what seemed to be the only road in the entire area, more of a graveled path, which terminated oddly up against two square, free-standing constructions.

“You don’t want to go through on this side,” the Jagdsprinz called to Luisa when she went to inspect them. “You might be able to get from Naples to here through those, but they’ll dump you out somewhere different starting here.”

“Where?” Luisa asked, nudging her horse into catching up the group.

The Jagdsprinz just shrugged, and didn’t answer.

Orcus’ great plains and low, rolling hills on the other side of the Lethe bridge was the greatest temptation Árpád had ever seen. They could _feel_ the horses everywhere, most of them out of sight but enough where they could see that they ached to run István towards them and spend days and days here.

 _You will have plenty of time to come back,_ Arion told them when he caught them staring wistfully at one of the clusters of horses moving away from them.

Tartarus stuck out strangely in the midst of this idyll, the iron tower rusting and the stone walls collapsing, but the diamond gates still standing tall and locked. The fall of the Phlegethon down the cliff behind it created Tartarus a sort of island of its own, the Plegethon’s waters collecting in a kind of natural moat around the walls, presumably draining away somewhere unseen into the ground, maybe a cave system.

There was only one bridge over the moat, and the Jagdsprinz rode across it first. The diamond gates swung open on their own, which was a little unnerving.

“We’re not going to set up camp in there, are we?” Nantakash asked with a large measure of dread.

“Of course not,” Zaubleutnant Agresta told him, loading the large jug of water he’d taken from the Phlegethon into the holding contraption he’d taken off the sole packhorse they’d brought, specifically to carry the things they would gather here. He’d already stopped when they crossed the River Lethe to fill the other jug there, so now what was left was things from Tartarus itself. “We’re going to camp on the other side of the Phlegethon, in Orcus. We know better than to sleep here.”

When everyone had dismounted, unburdened their horses, and let them free to roam around in Orcus, Ms. Walker-Kirkland took over.

“Since Tartarus was where the souls of Honalenier oathbreakers and their lot _used_ be damned to, there should still be a resolute aspect to everything here, and very, very strong affinities,” she told them again, for their short re-briefing. “So have a good look around and use your judgement. It might be that you find something that only works for you, but even that’s a better than we had before. You all remember what makes a witch?”

“Killing a King, killing someone specifically to get power out of them, messing with the actual _soul_ of someone’s soul, magical compulsion, overstepping the appropriate limits of a King’s domain to the point of usurpation,” Luisa listed off.

“Future-telling and other time magic,” Demyanev said grimly. “Destroying memories, creating undead, and demon summoning.”

“Let’s get to work then.”

Tartarus was a little unsettling, and Árpád wasn’t terribly _surprised_ by that, but it didn’t mean that they weren’t beset with apparently sorceless anxiety, or didn’t feel like they were being watched.

“Are we _certain_ that all the souls are gone?” they asked Demyanev. “Because I think this place could use a good exorcism.”

“If it worked,” Demyanev said. “Wouldn’t that destroy its usefulness to us?”

Árpád had to agree that this was probably true, but they started singing softly to themself as they wandered around the ruins to distract themself, trying to think of any use for the things they found. There were lots of stone shards around, from where parts of the walls had fallen down, but they couldn’t think of any reason to take those.

Eventually they found an overgrown garden. This was very strange, and Árpád tried to ignore the heat radiating from the ground as they crouched down to take a closer look at was growing here. If this had been a place of punishment, why a garden? Was the point to torture people with pollen allergies?

The garden was mostly rosebushes, more thorns than anything, with a mixture of full deep, dark red flowers and as yet unopened buds. There was some kind of tall upright plant with curling flowers they couldn’t identify, so they cut a stalk to take to Ms. Walker-Kirkland for identification, and a couple of the open roses, the buds, and the stems, too. There might be some use in burning them to harvest their ashes.

They stopped singing when they got their hand caught in a tangle of thorns- that _hurt-_ and the lack of noise let another sound come through. Running water.

It took a bit of hunting to find it, but after a minute or so Árpád discovered a stone path that had been overgrown by the upright plants and not the rosebushes, and found themself in a little grotto, up against where Tartarus’s wall met the cliff face. There was a small pool- no, it was a hole in the ground, where a just of rock up through the topsoil had thinned with weathering enough to collapse in this area, revealing an underground stream a some centimeters below the surface.

Árpád stuck their wounded hand into the water, assuming that it would be cool like water usually was underground, and regretted it immediately. This water _burned,_ and now their hand felt worse.

It explained why the ground was hot in Tartarus, though; and where the Phlegethon’s water went.

They brought their flower treasures and the information about the water back to Ms. Walker-Kirkland, who identified the upright plant as acanthus, and she and Zaubleutnant Agresta started talking about the possibilities of ash mixtures and distilling oils. Everyone else had finished up their explorations at about the same time as them, because after a few minutes the others started wandering back with their own findings.

Terenzia was carrying her own flowers- very strange ones, that glowed the red-orange of coals.

“I have no idea what these are,” she told Ms. Walker-Kirkland. “But they were growing on the banks of the river where part of the wall had completely fallen down, all tangled up in ivy. The two were growing together.”

“I have no idea what these are, either,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland said. “They’re certainly magical.”

“Fire lilies,” Nantakash told them when he turned up, not very long after. “I’ve only ever heard of them. It makes sense that they were growing on the riverbank, though.”

“I already gathered water for experimentation,” Zaubleutnant Agresta reminded him when he saw Nantakash’s cupful of river water.

“I know,” the Kuberan Kommandant said. “But I figured out why it’s the River of Fire.”

“Because it’s _hot,_ ” Árpád said.

“Well, _yes_ ,” Nantakash said, the unspoken _‘but’_ hanging in the air as he quickly touched a finger to the water, applying just a dab of magic. The water went up in flames, and Natakash dropped it to ground to keep from getting burned. Everyone jumped back as the fire water spread, leaving behind a black scorch mark on the ground when it burned itself out a few seconds later.

“We’ll have to find someplace _very_ secure for the water samples,” Zaubleutnant Agresta said, staring at the ground. “And it probably shouldn’t be in the Workshop. I’m almost afraid of what will happen when we add magic to the Lethe sample.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland said. “If the Phlegethon lives up to its name, we should dump out the Lethe sample back into the river on the way back home. The horses don’t seem like they’re hurt by it, but they’re not sticking magic in it first.”

“Is it the Cocytus or the Acheron that’s the River of Pain?” he asked, and she shot him the most _disgusted_ look Árpád had ever seen.

“Don’t you _dare,_ Nicodemo Terenzio Agresta Fernandez.”

“There’s no call to use _all_ of it,” Zaubleutnant Agresta protested. “But if there’s the River of Forgetfulness, the River of Pain, and the River of Lamentation, then shouldn’t be able to use them as bases for potions or something? To combat memory loss, pain, and maybe depression or grief or something. It’s worth testing out, I think.”

The argument about whether or not potions were reasonable or viable in the first place, and whether or not attempting to make one out of these ingredients to test them out would be ethical at all, continued until Demyanev and Luisa returned.

“Have _you_ ever heard of someone using potions?” Ms. Walker-Kirkland demanded of him. “Nico insists that just because we haven’t heard of them doesn’t mean they couldn’t exist, but I’m not willing to risk it.”

“There are rumors, Lady Kirkland,” Demyanev told her. He had something that clanked slung over his shoulder. “But I would not be the person to ask- the Thálassians might know, and if not them, then if the knowledge exists you will have to ask King Andvari for it.”

“Well I still think we should _try,_ ” Zaubleutnant Agresta insisted.

“Look what we found!” Luisa said, holding her coat out. She’d pulled it up and was holding the front of it to make a carrying pouch, and everyone looked inside.

“Is that obsidian?” Terenzia asked, taking a chip of the glossy black stone out of her friend’s coat and holding it up to the light, reflecting it back and forth. Rainbow iridescence sparkled across it at the proper angle.

“No,” Demyanev said. “I’m not sure what it is, but it’s sharp, and I think it could be used for _something._ If nothing else, you could use it as a knife.”

Árpád who had pulled out a long, needle-like sliver of the rock, could see the usefulness of this.

“Where did you find these?” Nantakash asked. “I didn’t see anything like this.”

“At the bottom of the river,” Luisa said.

“How did you get it _out,_ then?”    

Demyanev unshouldered the clanking things he’d been holding, and showed them the pieces of scrap iron he’d found.

“We took some rope out of the things we brought along and scraped up the bottom a bit,” he said. “And something strange happened to the iron. All through here-”

He dragged his finger along part of a piece.

“-it was rusted, but when we pulled them back out again the rust was completely gone. Burned away, I suppose; and the iron had gone malleable.”

“But it wasn’t like it _should_ work,” Luisa said. “It wasn’t glowing or anything. But if you wear gloves you could handle it with your hands only getting a little hot, and for a minute or two you can twist and mold the iron around like clay.”

That sounded very useful, and there was some discussion about this until the Jagdsprinz got back. She had the least to show of the searching efforts, but a handful of diamond and ruby chips.

“You have to be looking very carefully to spot them,” she told them. “And there aren’t very many.”

On the way out of Tartarus, to go set up camp for the night, Zaubleutnant Agresta and Ms. Walker-Kirkland pulled everyone else into their argument about the possibilities and risks of potions; but Terenzia pulled Árpád away as soon as everyone else was busy with the argument and setting up.

“We’ll be sharing anyway,” she told them, sticking one of the fire lilies behind their ear. “And I _know_ you wanted to see the horses. I’ve got your violin, too, so you can play for them. We can come back later.”

It took some walking until they found a group of horses, but they flocked to Árpád before they had even had the chance to try to talk to them, sniffing at his clothes and angling to get petted. One tried to eat the fire lily, but Árpád told the mare sternly not too.

“They really like you,” Terenzia said, scratching one of the foals. “Even the horses in the stables don’t act like this when you go to visit.”

It took a bit to convince the horses to let them go, but eventually they listened and Árpád was able to sit down with their violin and start playing. Terenzia listened for a while, leaning up against the horse that was serving as a backrest, and then got up to dance with the horses.

Árpád had to smile at that. The two sights didn’t mess that well together, but everyone was enjoying themselves, so that was the important part.

“Ah,” someone said. “I see what you mean, Arion.”

Árpád finished the song early and turned towards the voice. Arion was there, with a woman-

“ _Razanás_ Despoina,” Terenzia greeted her, bowing. “Thank you for hosting us tonight.”

“I certainly wasn’t going to _refuse_ ,” Kore Despoina told her, and turned her attention back to Árpád. They had a sudden feeling of dread- these were _her_ horses, and they had always thought that because horses came so naturally to them that they weren’t doing anything wrong but maybe _she_ thought differently.

“If had known you would turn out like this,” she said. “Perhaps I would have kept you, despite my misgivings.”

Árpád stared at her.

“Excuse me?”

She smiled.

“So Prince _Magyarország can_ keep secrets. I’m glad my opinion of him had held true.”

 _If it hadn’t, sister,_ Arion told her. _I would have set the Jagdsprinz on him myself._

“Excuse me,” Árpád pressed.

“You must get the music from your father’s side,” Kore told them. “Certainly my family isn’t known for being musical.”

“Wait. Wait you-”

“Welcome home, child,” his mother told him. “Well, to one of them. Don’t be upset at your father- I had him promise not to tell until I’d decided I was ready to let people know. I didn’t want people making a fuss. Now, you’re both late for dinner, and I told the Jagdsprinz I’d bring you back.”

Somehow, Árpád made it through dinner, and fell asleep that night, and even didn’t lose too badly during the evaluations competition- which was basically to have a magical duel until there was only one person left _‘incapacitated’_ or there was a clear draw- despite the news that had been dumped on them.

To no one’s surprise, the Jagdsprinz declared the Witchbreakers extant as soon as Zaubleutnant Agresta was the last one left standing. Everybody packed up, and the discussion of who was going to join the Witchbreakers and who was going to go back to their old assignments, and who could be good to recruit, took up the whole way back.

“I don’t know if I’ll switch over,” Nantakash said as they approached the stable area. “I _do_ like my command, and if Demyanev and Árpád are definitely going, you’ve got officers already-”

“But Lana won’t join the Hunt, and Luisa is going back to being commanding Zauber officer in Martinach,” Demyanev wheedled. “If you or Terenzia don’t switch over, it will only be the two of us.”

“And what if I want to give Horsecharmer the chance to get promoted, huh?” Nantakash asked. “They’re only Offizier now, but if you’re Witchbreaker Kommandant then the Jagdsprinz can bump them up to Hauptmann, and they can train the new recruits- you did a good job with the humans, back when we started.”

“Thanks,” Árpád told him. “But I’m really sure that me training Jäger who want to transfer into the Witchbreakers would go over well. I only just joined-”

“Nonsense,” Luisa said. “Árpád, you basically joined the Hunt the day you showed up in Martinach. _Everybody_ knows that, it’s just that it took you a little while to make it offici-”

“I don’t care if Cassiel Navin is going to keel over and die if he so much as looks at me!” the Jagdsprinz yelled from up ahead, and everyone jumped. None of them had noticed that she, Ms. Walker-Kirkland, and Zaubleutnant Agresta had gotten into an argument. “He can go hang himself! I’m not _going_ to go talk to him; I’m going to go give János an earful about proper conduct!”

Oh. Apparently Kore Despoina- apparently their _mother_ \- had told the Jagdsprinz the no-longer-a-secret, too.

“What are _they_ on about?” Luisa asked.

“Tell you later,” Terenzia told her.    

“Nia,” they heard Zaubleutnant Agresta say. “Are you upset because János violated some sort of social code; or because you just found out you have _more_ family no one had informed you of?”

The Jagdsprinz gave him a thunderous look, and Arion took off out of the stable yard, down the mountain towards Martigny.

“It’s not like Árpád wasn’t already family!” Zaubleutnant Agresta yelled after her; and when she didn’t stop, he turned his horse around to face the rest of them.

“Do you want me to go get _Mamma_?” Terenzia asked him.

“No,” the Zaubleutnant told her. “Luisa, Nantakash, get the horses taken care of and help Lana get everything down the Workshop and catalogued, will you? I’m going to go keep Nia from doing something stupid. Árpád, Demyanev, you’re with me.”

“Why-” Árpád started to ask, with no small measure of trepidation. From the sound of it, Cassiel Navin was down there, and they certainly didn’t want to meet _him._

“It’s _your_ family,” he said. “You should probably talk to your father, anyway; and I can introduce Demyanev around. You haven’t met János Héderváry, have you?”

“No, sir,” Demyanev told him, and they started to follow the Jagdsprinz. They had only made it as far as Sebastianhaus when there was a pounding of hooves behind them, and Terenzia joined the group.

“I didn’t-” her father started to say.

“I brought Arik,” she interrupted him, and sure enough, there he was in his Hound form, panting and loping along beside her. “You _know_ he’ll be helpful with handling _Tante_ Nia. And while you’re working I can meet Árpád’s family.”

Zaubleutnant Agresta looked between them and his daughter, sighed, and ordered everyone to pick up the pace so they could get there in time to actually prevent an incident.

* * *

Things seemed to be going well at the opening ceremony- Cassiel Navin had shown up clean, in good clothes, and generally not seeming like he was some sort of antisocial scientific hermit, and was now giving the main speech about space and space travel and how wonderful it was-

Csaba was trying to tune that out, because _Pict_ ; so he noticed when _Apa_ surreptitiously pulled out his phone, pulled a face at it, and tried to duck out politely. Csaba grabbed his arm as he tried to walk by.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“That was Nico,” _Apa_ told him. “It seems that they’re back, and Árpád’s mother decided to break her silence. Nia’s coming to _lecture_ me. I’ll try to keep her away from Cassiel; and Nico says he’s coming to help and he brought backup-”

“Too late, _Apa_ ,” Csaba said, catching sight of the Jagdsprinz appearing on the edge of the crowd, just on the other side of the security line. The Dragoner Jäger who were manning the line got a little agitated at her sudden appearance, and he could see other Jäger coming down the road after her. “Get down there-”

Up at the microphone, Cassiel cut off abruptly. Csaba had a moment to think _oh no, they’re going to-_

And then the Jagdsprinz reached down to the side of her saddle and pulled out her gun. Cassiel swore into the microphone and flung himself to one side as the Jagsdprinz _shot at him_ , scrambling to his feet and she roared at the crowd to _move_ and started for the temporary stage they were all on, using her horse to reinforce the point.

Cassiel Navin disappeared, and there was a long confused moment where Csaba heard _someone_ click the microphone off, and then the Jagdsprinz was up on stage and Arik stepped up beside her and Nico Agresta and his people were seconds away from coming up behind them.

“What the _hell_ are you _doing,_ Nia!” _Apa_ snapped at the Jagdsprinz.

“The hell am _I_ doing?”she yelled at him. “The hell has _he_ been doing- _you_ been doing, that _he_ -”

“Nia-” Nico Agresta said, coming up the stairs.

“Look, I get you’re upset about Arik,” _Apa_ said. “But that was _way-_ ”

 _“If I could have shot him for Arik I would have done it **years** ago!”_ the Jagdsprinz cut them both off. “ _He-”_

She seemed too angry to speak.

 _“_ And _neither_ of _you_ wanted _me_ to come!”

“Are you going to _explai-_ ” Nico tried to say; but the Jagdsprinz was ignoring him and pointed towards the security line she’d broken.

“ _You!_ ” she yelled. “Hauptmann! I want Kommandants ap Gwyn, Kascheiyivna, Boreas, Harshaisha, Costa, and Lana Kirkland down here _now!_ Make sure ap Gwyn brings the Hounds!”

Csaba only vaguely recognized those names from the lessons _Apa_ had tried to give him- besides Lana Kirkland, who he knew personally but why would _she_ be relevant- but they clearly meant something bad to _Apa_ and Nico Agresta, because they both blanched.

“Nia,” Nico said, trying to hide his alarm and failing. “Why do you need _them-_ ”    

“Will the Hounds be able to follow you?” the Jagdsprinz asked her son.

He saluted her.

“Absolutely.”

 _“Then bring me Cassiel Navin,”_ she snarled, and Arik Beilschmidt smiled rather too widely and collapsed down into a dog, scenting the air a moment before taking a leap off the stage and disappearing, presumably after his father.

“Where does he keep his workshop?” the Jagdsprinz demanded, turning on _Apa_ next. “In the Berlin offices?”

 _Apa_ had to spend a moment processing.

“Uh- yes- it’s in the building-”

“In about five minutes you’re going to take us there.”

She turned to the rest of board.

“As for _you-_ ”

_“Nia-”_

“Zaubleutnant,” the Jagdsprinz said, voice cold. “Go to Rome and get the Vatican. Have him call Romania and make sure they bring their supplies. Meet us at the Berlin office; and fetch General Beilschmidt while you’re up there. I want a government witness for this.”

There was silence.

“Supplies?” Nico asked quietly.

“Exorcism and undead hunting,” the Jagdsprinz said. _“Go.”_

Nico went, and _Apa-_

 _“Nia,”_ he said, trying not be frantic. “Nia; what did he _do?_ What did Cassiel-”

“Oh,” she told him. “ _You_ are going to find out. Kommandant ap Gwyn!”

The Jäger she’d called for had arrived.

“Take the Hounds and follow Kommandant Beilschmidt- you’re to catch Cassiel Navin and _bring him to me._ Take Lana and-”

“Árpád, Terenzia, and Nantakash,” Lana said. “Nantakash and I and Árpád and Terenzia are two team pairs-”

“-with you! They’ve been training for this; so let _them_ handle Navin!”

Wait- _Árpád_ was here? Which one were they? Csaba hadn’t recognized anyone-

“When Cassiel dies it goes to you, right?”

It Csaba longer than it should have to realize that the Jagdsprinz was talking to _him;_ and then he was too tongue-tied to give an answer.

“Yes,” _Apa_ answered for him.

“Then he’s coming too,” the Jagdsprinz said. “So he can see what _not_ to do.”

* * *

The very very _very_ last thing Árpád wanted to do was chase after _Cassiel Navin;_ but they were Jager now and the Jagdsprinz had given her orders. It was not quite a Hunt they were riding in, with the Hounds leading the way and Kommandant ap Gwyn keeping the riders and the Hounds at the same pace, not without the Jagdsprinz’s power called up- but the Jagdsprinz wanted Navin alive at the end of this, dragged back to presumably explain himself and then answer for his crimes, not torn apart. There were limits to what the Jagdsprinz’s power could be useful for.

Árpád didn’t know where or when they finally caught up to Navin. It was a field somewhere, with wild grass and a town and a trafficked road not too far in the distance, and it looked like he’d stopped to try to make a stand here, his back against a stone wall. The Hounds were growling and snarling, but Kommandant ap Gwyn kept whistling them back, preventing the pack from descending and rending him to pieces like it so dearly wanted too. The Hounds were not accustomed to being denied at the end of a chase.

They and the Witchbreakers arrived only a few moments after the Hounds and the other two Kommandants, in time to see Kommandant Beilschmidt try to engage his father, to get in close enough to assimilate and trap him- but Navin was doing something with magic that kept repelling him, the Kommandant’s gelatinous white intermediary shifting stage flattening against his skin like it had encountered a force field, being blown back some feet away and back into human form.

“Come away, Arik!” Ms. Walker-Kirkland called from her seat behind Nantakash. Kommandant Beilschmidt growled at his father and backed up at her command, shifting to the black unicorn Árpád remembered from their first afternoon in the Hunt’s horse fields, only stopping when he was level with Terenzia, who had pulled up next to Árpád.

“Smart,” they heard her murmur to him. “Árpád?”

There wasn’t a pre-laid plan for this situation. Teleporting, stepping, magically translocating- whatever you wanted to call it, it was a power of _Razanásan_ , magic-using _Seelenkind_ , and select Jäger, not the general sorcerer or petty magic user. It had been assumed that there would never be a renegade in any of those categories; or that if it ever came up, it would be a matter for a Hunt.

Árpád was dreading having to coordinate between them now that they were already in the field and shaping up for an assault. They couldn’t see any way to keep Navin from overhearing everything.

“Can you keep him here?” Terenzia hissed.

They wished there could be a way to get their violin out without Navin noticing, but there wasn’t. They didn’t know if he knew anything about their magic; and either way, getting it out would mean that they clearly thought it was an important thing to do, and should probably be stopped or avoided.

But there was a particular dance playing in their head, one with a part that jumped up sharply on a fast regular beat, meant to be accompanied by jumps by the dancers. They started whistling it quietly, thinking of the jumps as attempts to escape; and the fall back down as being anchored in place, visualizing little magical hooks attached to ground by threads of power, sinking in Navin and holding him.

If it was working, Navin hadn’t noticed- perhaps because the magic wasn’t strong enough to make a difference, or perhaps because Ms. Walker-Kirkland had slid off of Nantakash’s horse and was striding towards him, her passage making the ambient background magic billow angrily.

“I don’t care,” she cut him off coldly when the man opened his mouth to speak. “The Jagdsprinz wants you, Cassiel, and she wouldn’t try to _kill_ you for _nothing._ There are _rules!_ ”

“And I have everything under control!” Navin protested. “There’s no-”

“The Jagdsprinz hasn’t spoken,” Ms. Walker-Kirkland told him. The magic was getting heavy around her, like Árpád had been told it did around _Razanás_ asserting themselves. She shimmered a little, magic starting to coalesce into the pale yellow-white, sparkling film it became when enough was piled together to force it into a solid state. Yellow-green sparks of visible magic skittered over the film and made high-pitched _pop-snap_ noises, like a fire, as a few blinked in and out of existence in the air around her.

This was fireworks and posturing, demonstration and intimidation. She’d done this before in experimental duels, using a blatant display of her magical power as _Seelenkind_ and fey, coupled with a little twist of the Tylwyth glamor from the fey side, to make a very impressive and honestly threatening distraction.

Árpád reached for their violin case.

“But she sent _us,_ ” Ms. Walker-Kirkland continued, raising a hand. “So I name _you,_ Cassiel Navin, _witch._ ”

She pointed at him and there was a breathless-sounding _crack_ as she used a flashy dart of magic meant to sear through flesh or any other solid object, modeled off of bullets and Navin’s own LP series guns. He caught it against his open palm and grounded it in a quick, downwards-swiping movement- fast, skilled, and only as frantic as the adrenaline already seeping into Árpád’s system as they played the first notes of the jumping part of the dance on their violin.

Cassiel Navin was practiced at this, somehow; and they were not surprised. 

Everyone else was, though, because Nantakash swore from where he had both hands buried in his Witchbreakers’ kit, rooting around for something; and Terenzia stiffed next to them in her saddle-

And Arik, who hadn’t had any sort of training in this because he didn’t have any usable, native magic of his, charged forwards again, through the distracting magical jabs Ms. Walker-Kirkland and Navin were making, and _ripped_ his next spell straight out of the air, using the unicorn’s inherent ability to feed off the magic of others to absorb it into himself, screaming equine defiance right into his father’s face, making him stumble back.

Árpád felt the strain of the magical drain on their own holding spell, which didn’t collapse because it was pattern, a ritual created on an impromptu application of affinity that was being fed with every draw of the bow. But there was a stutter in the magic at the sudden strain, and Árpád knew that everyone had felt it because Navin made a funny face as he noticed the binding that had been laid on him.

 _“ **Dammit,** Arik!” _ Terenzia yelled at her childhood friend, her horse spring forwards and _no_ she was supposed to be his defense and they didn’t want anyone they cared about anywhere _near_ Cassiel Navin- _“You’re in the **way!** ”_

Arik stopped trying to drain the magic around them only a few instants before Navin tried to step elsewhere with his magic, off somewhere far away; but Árpád was in control again by then and Navin only flickered, once, briefly.

Árpád had just a second where they could see Navin’s enraged expression at being unable to go anywhere before Terenzia was right _there_ and she leaned down and blew a handful of the Witchbreakers’ anti-magic dust, probably her whole supply, directly into his face.

Navin let out a wordless yell of outrage and scrubbed at his face with one hand, trying to get it out of his eyes and off his body and flailing out with the other, trying to get Terenzia. All he managed to do was slap Etele’s side, and her stallion danced off a few paces before coming to a stop again, snorting at the witch in displeasure. Árpád could hear his desire to smash the man’s skull in.

“We need him alive!” they called to the stallion, just as a reminder.

There was a moment where they weren’t sure what was going to happen next, but then Nantakash, who’d gotten himself sorted out, advanced on Navin on foot, his hands shining with a coat of wormwood oil. He twisted the ends of a long length of the steel wire from his Witchbreakers’ kit, cut off its coil, around Navin’s wrists in imitation of the binding irons they didn’t have, clamping his oil-coated hands on top of the bindings once he was done. 

“Lady Kirkland-” he said urgently; and Ms. Walker-Kirkland was gone and back again with the irons in only two or three minutes, missing the tense moment where Navin had tried to physically twist away and Terenzia had jumped down off Etele and carefully kicked his knees in from behind- so Nantakash could continue holding the temporary bindings- and then but the captured man in a headlock.

The iron cuffs and collar went on Cassiel Navin; and only then did Árpád let the song die.

* * *

János couldn’t really say that he’d grown up with Nia and her siblings- they were cousins, and he’d seen them periodically and little more frequently than some of the others did, since his parents had actually been friends with _her_ parents- and the clearest memory he had of Nia was when they’d been trapped in the House together, back when demons were new and neither of them had ever given real thought to magic.

That memory wasn’t helping him much, because _then_ Nia had scared and desperately trying to cling to some sort of reason and logic to keep from falling apart, but _now, he_ was the one trying to explain things to himself as he transported her, his son, and three of her Kommandants to the main conference room in the Berlin office, because he couldn’t think of anywhere else where there wouldn’t be people around to see.

“…János?”

No, no, he’d forgotten- Tomoko would be in here to use the big table to spread out the unfamiliar work she was handling for the rest of them for the day so she could see it all at once and process it better.

“Cassiel’s fucked up,” he told her, trying to seem composed for his long-time colleague and mother of his daughter-in-law. It was more difficult than he was comfortable with. Nia was looming in his sense of the universe, exerting a coldly furious center-of-gravity pressure on everyone that was entirely too Nation-like. “The General and the Vatican and Romania are supposed to be showing up soon, with Nico. If you see them, can you show them to the workshop?”

“Nico can find us just fine,” Nia- the Jagdsprinz- said curtly. “Where is it, János?”

Hoping to God that no one would see them on their way down and ask questions he couldn’t answer, and didn’t _want_ to have to answer, he led them to Cassiel’s workshop. None of the company employees saw them, but true to the Jagdsprinz’s word, Nico turned up with the Nations he’d been sent to fetch without having to ask for directions. The atmosphere got even more tense after that, with her and the General in such close proximity and his trust in her only deigning to call if he was _truly_ needed the only thing keeping open hostilities from breaking out.

He would have sighed in relief when they reached the heavy steel door of Cassiel’s workshop if he’d actually been relieved, but instead he just felt worse. His heart had climbed up into his throat, and he didn’t want to _know._

“We don’t have any keys for it,” he told the Jagdsprinz.

“Nico,” she said, gesturing him forwards- and János knew he wasn’t going to get out of this. He tried to silently convey to his son that, no matter _what_ the Jagdsprinz had told him, he didn’t have to stick around; but either Csaba didn’t understand, or he didn’t want to, or couldn’t bring himself to, leave.

János had seen the footage of the Civil War, of course, and the Camorra Purges specifically; but it was one thing seeing Nico melt steel with a thought on the far side of a camera and an editing session and a different thing entirely to be there in person as it happened. Overheated metal had a peculiar sort of smell, like ozone and-

The rotting stench overwhelmed everything and made János gag. One of the Jäger- was it Luisa, she looked like she could be a Costa- pulled a face and covered her nose and mouth with a hand.

“He _didn’t,_ ” Romania choked out, enraged. _“He-”_

The Nation stormed past all of them, already picking things out from the assortment of equipment he’d brought with him. The Jagdsprinz followed, and then the Jäger, and then János and Csaba-

 _“Svana,”_ Csaba whispered in horror, and turned around and shoved his way past the General out of the room and János could hear him retching into the trashcan in the office and the other lady Jager muttered _“Draugr”_ and kept her distance from the minutely-moving figure János was so, so thankful he couldn’t see because Romania was blocking his view and the Vatican was over there now too and, and, and.

“She wasn’t Catholic,” Romania said.

“She is still a Christian, Cezar,” the Vatican replied in the calmly stubborn way he had, and knelt down to reach out and _touch-_

No; he wasn’t going to look any longer.

“You’re allowed to take the work he was doing for the company,” the Jagdsprinz told him, pointing to the desks and workbenches and bookshelves lining the wall on, thankfully, the other side of the room from what _they_ were doing. “Everything else, we _burn._ Boreas, Zorya, make sure he only takes what he’s allowed. Nico, go learn something from Romania. Luisa-”

Were his hands shaking? János wasn’t sure, and the loose sheets and binders and folders passed under his hands and he wordlessly pulled out the blueprints and the project notes and the diagram sketches and somehow was able to identify the two shelves worth of space research through the white noise clogging up his brain.

The Jäger took everything else away, somewhere, and maybe it was only a moment or maybe it was longer but then the smell of rotting flesh started to be replaced by the smell of burning flesh and the crinkle of paper curling up and turning black and János took a stack of paper that could go to the R&D people and walked out with it to the office, where his son was still huddled up with the trashcan.

“Csaba,” János heard himself say, and held out the papers. “Take these up to Tomoko, would you? They belong in R&D. There’s going to be more later to bring up, but for now she- she-”

“You should-”

“She- tell-”

“That Romania finished the job Cassiel Navin started?” Csaba offered, looking ill, and took the papers. János nodded, because words weren’t coming to him.

He was completely alone when he finally said “Well, I don’t think Cassiel _started_ it; I think he stopped it halfway through,” and the sound of his voice in this room was disturbing in some way he couldn’t really comprehend.

“János!”

“Leave him alone, Nia- can’t you tell he’s going into shock-”

“I _need_ him.”

He was back in the workshop and mostly he knew because the stench got stronger, but then Nico was there and he had a bottle and suddenly János was existing in a cloud of strong lavender scent, which somehow made things better.

“I know you’re here,” the Jagdsprinz said, to absolutely no one. She was holding a metal cube, etched all over with symbols, and wasn’t that Cassiel’s paperweight, the one he brought to the board meetings to hold down the corners of blueprints? Why did she have his paperweight?

But there was a stirring in the shadows, which made no sense because the shadows weren’t deep and they weren’t dark they were shallow and there hadn’t been anything there a moment before but now there was an edge of a wing and a body too tall and out of proportion and János _felt_ his brain short-circuit, the electric _fzz-pop_ of not accepting input, too much, overload, abort, how was the Jagdsprinz still staring it dead in the eyes it didn’t have when it was all _he_ could do to clutch Nico and stare at him so he didn’t have to look anywhere else.

 _“Jagdsprinz!”_ a Jager cried in alarm.

“It’s bound, Zorya,” the Jagdsprinz told her calmly. “I’ve got what Cassiel anchored it in and it can’t hurt me.”

“You _can’t-_ ” the Vatican began to protest.

“Cassiel _did,_ ” she cut him off. “ _Razanás Vaticanae_ , if you would?”

“The hell are you letting _him_ at it for!” the General demanded, the first time János could remember him speaking this whole time. “Kill it!”

“I would, if that wouldn’t break the binding, and I’m not about to let it free to hurt more people.”

 _More?_ More people? Cassiel-

“This is the demon Belial,” the Jagdsprinz told the Vatican, and that was the last János heard anyone speak for a long time except for the Vatican’s Latin and the demon’s whispers and taunts that he refused to acknowledge- it was noise, just noise, all meaningless noise.

“Is he better now?”

 _“Nia,”_ Nico said, very crossly, and János realized it was over. The Vatican had cleared away his supplies and the Jager had relaxed, just a bit, so why did things still feel _wrong?_ “He should probably be someplace dark and quiet with a couple of blankets and some emotional support right now-”

“I said I needed him,” she said, and put the paperweight down on the floor. It made a _click._ “And you too, so get over here.”

“But the demon’s gone,” János said, surprising himself and hoping he hadn’t just told a lie.

“Yes,” the Jagdsprinz told him. “But he did one other thing.”

Her expression- it didn’t _soften,_ not really, but some empathy crept in.

“You’re not going to like it, János. I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t liked _any_ of this so what could Cassiel _possibly_ have done that warranted an apology when the other things hadn’t?

The Jagdsprinz reached out into the air over the cube, though it wasn’t really _over_ and it wasn’t really the _air_ because János could feel a magical something at work, and made a little twitching motion with her hand, fingers curled inward, like she was snatching somethin-

He’d probably made some sort of horrible noise because suddenly there wasn’t air in his lungs but that didn’t matter because the bottom had dropped out of his world.

 _“Sweet Mary,”_ Nico swore. “I thought-”

“You _knew?_ ” the Jagdsprinz demanded, fury in her eyes.

“He told me-”

Nico looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

“He said- it was in Rome- the Civil War he- you were in Venice and- he said he’d been asked but it hadn’t _worked!_ ”

“You should have _told me!_ We could have been here _ten years ago!_ We could have-”

 _“Stop,”_ János begged, hearing himself this time. Everything was going blurry those were tears he _no._ “You have to- _Apa-_ ”

It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt everything hurt and how was he going to tell _Mama_ -

“I’ll _kill_ him!” he screamed, reaching blindly. “I’m going to _kill him-!_ ”

Hands clamped down on his shoulders, firmly, careful not to hurt.

“Cassiel Navin is _mine_ to deal with, János Héderváry,” the Jagdsprinz told him. “He’s been bound here for thirty-seven years and _I’m_ sorry; I’m sorry I assumed that when I went to take Switzerland he’d gone along ahead of me and now he’s been stuck there with that demon for I don’t know how long-”

“Four years, five years,” he sobbed. “Things started feeling _off_ down here then and I couldn’t sleep and we thought it was just Cassiel being Cassiel-”

“It was,” she said. “I _know_ it hurts János but I _promise_ once we get him loose he’ll be all right. He’ll be going somewhere he can’t be hurt and I’ll be taking him there personally and he _will_ heal- he’ll even be able to come back for visits so you can be _sure_ he’s all right. But right now I need you to help ground him, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Nico; I know _what_ he did but I don’t know how to _undo_ it, I need you to-”

And János didn’t hear any more because he went to a part of himself that he’d thought had died decades ago and reached down the citizen bond to Austria.

_Apa, Apa, I’m so sorry._

_Jansci?_

It sounded like a whisper and that was very different- words had never come across clear like this before.

_Jansci- no, **no-**_

He got flashes of _demon fear dread protect_.

_The demon’s **gone,** Apa; the Hunt and the Vatican got rid of it and they’re figuring out how to get you free now. _

And that was _disbelief._

 _Gone?_ Austria whispered.

 _Promise,_ János told him. _I- I’m so **sorry** Apa I **knew** something was wrong but I never tried to find out **what-**_

 _My fault,_ was Austria’s reply. _I didn’t want to die. I thought magic could keep them from taking my people. **Prussia** stayed._

_Magic doesn’t work like that, Apa._

_And how would **you** know?_

János showed him Øystein’s proposal the business proposition he’d counter-pitched his couple of years learning with the Hunt and in Honalee Kore Despoina and Árpád getting employed getting on the board the research the correspondence circle-

Lavender again.

“Time to say goodbye, János, before Nico breaks the binding.”

He didn’t want to. He’d done this once before already how was he supposed to do it again.

_I love you, Jansci; and tell your mother._

And Austria was _gone_ again, in the second of fission out that hurt even _more_ this time because he’d been paying attention and he was shaking so hard that his teeth hurt and the tears were falling silent and burning.

Nia must have spent a moment to take care of him before going on to her business with Austria and Cassiel Navin, because when he came back to himself it smelled like horses and home and he was warm in a blanket and Hungary’s arms in the dusk, and he could feel the dull edge of her grief.

* * *

They hadn’t known where to take Cassiel Navin once they’d caught him. The Jagdsprinz had still been in Berlin, and they hadn’t wanted to hang around in Jagdsberg with him, so they crossed over into Honalee and held him on the edge of the Jagdshall’s clearing, off away from everyone else. Kommandant ap Gwyn returned the Hounds to the kennels, and then wandered back, uncertainly.

Eventually, the Jagdsprinz returned with Zaubleutnant Agresta, Luisa, and Kommandants Kasheiyivna and Boreas, everyone but the Jagdsprinz looking deeply shaken.

The Jagdsprinz looked down at Navin from Arion for a few long moments, implacably cold, and said: “We’re going back to Tartarus.”

The ruins seemed larger, somehow, now that there were more people. It might just have been the contrast between the time they’d just spent in the place and what they were here now to do, but Árpád reached for Terenzia’s hand anyway. This place had once held an untold number of dead, after all. There was nothing saying it _hadn’t_ gotten bigger because they’d come with more people.

“I don’t know why you’re so _angry!_ ” Navin said from where he’d been forced to kneel on the ground. “I was _fixing_ it!”

“There is no _fixing_ what you did, Cassiel Navin,” the Jagdsprinz spat at him, and drew her sword. “I name you _soul thief._ I name you _necromancer._ I name you _demon-summoner._ I name you _witch-_ and by the laws of magic both before and after the creation of the Hunt, from the beginning of creation until this very moment, the sentence for these is _death_.”

The Jagdsprinz knew a lot of ways to kill someone.

None of them worked.

Navin came out of his latest death chuckling hoarsely and coughing up gore. The ground was soaked with his blood and the Jagdsprinz was coated with it up to her knees and wrists.

“I told Nico,” he rasped. “In Rome. I was testing all the ways you could die, since shooting didn’t work for him, and you will _never_ kill me. No one will ever kill _you,_ or Nico, or János- and I bet Lana, either. We’re _Seelenkind,_ soaked in magic. We’ll be here until the stars go out; long after the last human or Nation.”

She kicked him.

“Maybe you can’t die, Cassiel Navin,” the Jagdsprinz said. “But you can starve.”

She looked at them, and the Zaubleutnant. Unbidden, acting on silent cues they didn’t know the Jagdsprinz well enough to interpret, he picked up a piece of scrap iron and dunked it into the tub of water taken from the Phlegethon, waiting for it to heat up. The iron cuffs and collar would be anchored into the earth of this place, the old purpose of the magic that still imbued it woken again, just enough for one final prisoner.  

“Make the magic in them strong,” she ordered. “I want him to rot here until the universe ends.”

Árpád ran their fingers along the edge of their violin; then tucked it under their chin, lifted the bow, and started to play.


	7. Martigny and Theiostea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things You Will Find In This Chapter:  
> -Discussion of slavery  
> -Mentions of rape  
> -Some outright murder, described through implications  
> -Mentions of various forms of torture and abuse  
> -Exactly one instance of inappropriate questioning; related to the following  
> -Mentions of transphobia  
> -A bout of dysphoria
> 
> You have been advised. Please keep comfort food/items handy as necessary and skim, skip, or take a break from sections as necessary. I personally kept it to as little as possible while still serving plot and not actually doing details, but all of these things are important to the story/will have consequences later.

It had been seven years since Ivan had joined the Hunt and he hadn’t regretted a single moment of it- but, looking at the boxes of files that Leutnant Ian Lusk of the Department of Diplomacy and Public Relations had brought over, he was wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

The Jagdsprinz was fond of giving him large projects to work with, from restructuring the Departments to organizing and compiling the internal census of the Hunt with Arik to, most recently, being in charge of developing and organizing an archive of the Hunt’s records and copied texts from Lanka Kubera to serve as the core for a research and academic library.

But these were not the archive and library files. He _had_ those.

“The Jagdsprinz wants to see you out at the Irvinrkallrene, Marschall Braginski,” Leutnant Lusk informed him. “And the library files are supposed to go to Kommandant Althaus over in Legal now that the University is ready to start hiring.”

“But the Irvinrkallrene isn’t supposed to be in session,” Ivan said, confused. The last meeting had only been- what was it, nineteen days ago? They weren’t due to meet again for over a week yet.

“I don’t know, sir- I’m not Domdruc, only Jägerskovsk,” the Leutnant told him. “But that’s where she wants you.”

 Ivan told his Leutnantkommandanten assistants to find somewhere to store the new files and help Leutnant Lusk take the library files over to Legal, then started to head for the Irvinrkallrene, frowning.

Why would the Jagdsprinz want him _there? ‘I’m not Domdruc, only Jägerskovsk’_ applied just as much to him as it did to Ian Lusk. They were both Jäger, and therefore Jägerskovsk- residents of the Hunt’s home territory- but the Domdruc were Lord Hiruz and the huldrene and the mist spirits and the oreads and their fey children.

He’d been to the forest glade where the Irvinrkallrene met back when he’d first joined the Hunt. Lord Hiruz had called him there, to explain to him the political implications of his joining Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor’s Hunt.

They had been rather disquieting.

 _“The position of Marschall is one of sanctioned authority on the Jagdsprinz’s behalf,”_ Lord Hiruz had told him. _“It is a very short step from that to Jagdsprinz yourself. If Nia Beilschmidt should, all good things forbid, die, it will be expected of you- you who are already a Razanás, who will have been acting on her behalf, and who will be uniquely positioned to serve and appeal to both the human and Honalenier Jäger- to become Jagdsprinz after her. We **cannot** stand to have the Hunt fall apart again.”_

Ivan has resolved to think about this as little as possible, but it was hard _not_ to think about it, going back there now. He hadn’t needed to interact with the Domdruc’s government at all in the course of his duties.

The Irvinrkallrene’s rowan-lined glade was backed up against the side of one of the mountains flanking the Huntsroad to the Tree and the Well. Isengrim’s Mine, the source of the Domdruc’s iron and stone, and a secondary passage through the mountains to Lintukoto, had its opening there.

He hadn’t been expecting anyone but Nia and the five-person Irvinrkallrene, but when he arrived the glade was quite full.

Lord Hiruz was lying in the grass next to the pool at the base of the ash tree that had the iron band representing the Irvinrdisganheid wrapped around it. The cranky old griffin Hrauketrieg- the Keda of the Irvinrkallrene, a position that had a strange mix of town council president and priest- was stretched out in the sun in front of the entrance to Isengrim’s Mine, their head on their front talons.

Kommandanten Adalram and Siegrike were there, which Ivan wasn’t too surprised to see- they had been some of the first to join the new Hunt _because_ they were their respective groups’ representatives in the Irvinrkallrene- but Kommandant Merric, who had been the mist spirits’ representative until the Jagdsprinz had asked them to take a position in Ordon Khot, was here as well. The last Ivan had heard, they had still been there, commanding 3rd Dragoner.

Nia herself wasn’t really a surprise, but the fact that she wasn’t wearing her uniform but the Jagdsprinz’s armor was. She was nominally the Domdruc’s King, as King of the Jägerskov; but she was very much a figurehead for the Irvinrkallrene to be accepted by the rest of Honalee. It suited her well, and Ivan knew that she’d come to meetings occasionally, when she had the time and inclination to, and usually only came in uniform- _dress_ uniform, as she wore every day for her official business, but uniform nonetheless.

But he couldn’t think of any possible reason why Unterführer Diana Agresta was here. Or her daughter Terenzia; or Terenzia’s fiancée Árpád; or the human Kommandanten Magda Eisenhart of 19th Husar, which was stationed in Rome and Ivan _knew_ they hadn’t come back, so why-

“This is everyone, Keda Hrauketrieg,” Nia told the griffin.

Hrauketrieg lifted their head spread their wings out a little.

“Then I declare this meeting of the Irvinrkallrene convened,” they said. “Sanctioned by and in accordance with the Irvinrdisganheid. Hiruz, if you would give the incantation.”

Oh, this was strange. The Irvinrkallrene conducted their business in Rinnrdrusk, the correct term for what was known in the Trade Creole as Jägerskovsk, but Hrauketrieg was speaking in German. They also didn’t usually give the full history of the Irvinrdisganheid- that reserved for special situations, like the seasonal holidays.

Or, he supposed, extraordinarily-scheduled meetings.

Lord Hiruz made a deep thrumming sound, sort of a rumble; which Ivan recognized as his equivalent of humming from when the elk had told _him_ this story, seven years ago. He settled in to listen to listen to it again.

“In Rinnrdrusind _,_ what the rest of Honalee calls the time of the High Legends,” Lord Hiruz began. From the tone and pacing, it was clear that this was originally a chanted or sung poem, and that he was translating in his head as he went along. “This land was forest, mountain, and canyon wastes. In the forest lived the huldrene, who are two-formed wolf and forest cat and wolverine and bear; and the ruzdrene, who were one-formed of elk. In the mountains lived the oreads, who are the stones and the bones of the earth; and in the canyon wastes lived the mist spirits, who are the tamers of unicorns and sorcerers of their own right. Between the two lived the griffins, who were guardians of the riches of mountain and forest.

In those days we had no King, and cared for it none. We lived with little competition or friction between each other, even between the huldrene and the griffins and the ruzdrene, who had their own signs to tell the huldrene and griffins that _they_ were not for hunting.”

The elk turned his head towards the direction of Queen Nicnevin’s lands, and his tone became grief-stricken. Ivan felt his chest clench- he knew what was coming.

“But on the edge of the forest and the mountains were the rolling plains and flatlands of what we call, and others came to call, the Silent Hills; for the people there could move in dream and illusion, and hide themselves behind the seeming of the ground, and kill without any knowing. _They,_ the Tylwyth Teg, were not the first inhabitants of the Hills. In time before time, the border fields had been the ruzdrene’s land, and hunting space for the griffins, and shared foraging territory for the huldrene, before the Tylwyth came to gain a King and dominate everyone else. _They_ did not know the signs that marked a ruzdrene, and did not care to learn. Almost all of the ruzdrene were killed- despite help from the griffins, who also suffered heavy losses- before fleeing. Many griffins, seeing the destruction of the ruzdrene, fled east over the mountains with those few ruzdrene who survived through Chicomoztoc, to the Steppes and Lanka Kubera, to stay as far away from the Tylwyth as possible. Some huldrene, fearing that the forest would not stop the Tylwyth and their magic, followed their example. They fled west over the mountains there to settle the area that we now call Morningtown. Their new home changed them, and they are huldrene no longer.”

There was some uncomfortable movement from Adalram at that thought.

“They had good reason to think that retreating further into the forest would not stop the Tylwyth- the Mountains East and West was ruled by King Andvari, at least underneath. On the air side of the mountains lived the trolls and the unicorns, neither of whom were easily overcome; and so the mountains were safe through threat of King against King and the displeasure of Ereshkigal, besides certain death. In the far north they could reach Chicomoztoc- but Chicomoztoc was distant and hard to get to, and was again under the rule of a King- a new one then, but a King nonetheless and therefore again safe under Ereshkigal. To the far south were Orcus and Irkalla, over the hills and mountains; and through Nysa Canyon a route to the sea, and Póli Thálassas unreachable and ancient beneath it. So the forest was the only place for the Tylwyth to go.

Now the call went out for a meeting of the huldrene and their neighbors and allies; and to this very spot came eight representatives. Four of the huldrene: Tagrun of the forest cats, Gisaldal from the wolves, Osragan from the wolverines, and Arankallr from the bears. For the mist spirits came Lehuda. For the oreads came Isengrim. For the remaining griffins came Hrauketrieg. And for the slaughtered ruzdrene came _I,_ called Hiruz as my title for lord of the elk, the sole remaining of the entire people in our homeland.”

At this point of the story, when Lord Hiruz had been telling it to _him,_ the elk had gone to fetch Hrauketrieg to give their input on the situation. Ivan looked to them, expecting them to continue the story; but Lord Hiruz evidentially had the entire telling today.

“The fear of the huldrene was great and the mist spirits, though protected by their captured unicorns and possessing the ability to dissipate if threatened, had their worries as well. They came to the meeting dreading in their hearts that the only to survive was to follow their cousins to the far reaches of Honalee and hope that the Tylwyth would not follow. But Isengrim was the eldest and most powerful of the oreads, a sorcerer trained by Andvari and the Secret-Keeper’s equal in knowledge. _He_ brought to the huldrene iron, opening Isengrim’s Mine, promising to teach them the use of the fire and the forge to learn the metal that would keep the Tylwyth and their magic away.  

But Isengrim knew that this teaching would take time, and so on that day he brought out his hammer and his coals and iron from the heart of his mountain, and used the Askstän as his anvil.”

The Askstän was a large rock at the foot of the ash tree that grew by the side of the pool. Ivan had tried to sit on it his first time here, and had been _severely_ told off for it. That was why he had been told this story in the first place.

“On that day did Isengrim forge an iron ring and bind it around the trunk of the ash tree where they had met,” Lord Hiruz continued, indicating the tree and ring with a dip of his head. “And to the foundation of the Irvinrdisganheid did Gisadal of the wolf huldrene give his life and his blood for Isengrim to sanctify the ring and call upon the deepest parts of the magic that governs us and sustains creation. Before the blood had cooled, Isengrim engraved the ring with the phrase that would seal the binding between us, and filled the words with gold to make them eternal.”

“ _‘With this pact of blood and iron sealed in gold we are as one people sovereign and eternal’_ ,” the entire Irvinrkallrene recited in unison. Ivan was interested to note that Nia said it right along with them.

“With these words,” Lord Hiruz said. “We made ourselves as Kings under our own rule- for through whom is magic shaped but Ereshkigal; and by whom are Kings made but Ereshkigal? None but we who were now the Domdruc and the humans who fled to us from their slavery under the Tylwyth, seeking freedom in our families or at the end of the paths our ancestral cousins had taken to flee the Tylwyth, recognized our sovereignty- but we were content.”

Hrauketrieg’s clacked their beak together loudly, the sound derisive. Lord Hiruz stopped his recitation long enough to give his old friend a stern warning glare. The upcoming portion of the story was one that the griffin was especially bitter about. He waited long enough to be certain that they weren’t going to make any comments before continuing.

“Then came the time of Gwyn ap Llud Llaw of the Tylwyth Teg, he who went to Ereshkigal and asked for a way to mitigate the power of oaths and vows, that are sunk deep into magic and had recently caused so much destruction unto his family. The binding of the Irvinrdisganheid that Isengrim had made, though he himself was long lost within his mountain, was of such strength and so well-crafted that Domdrucharc was the only place to lay the power of the Hunt into the roots of the earth. And so, we came to have a Tylwyth King.”

Hrauketrieg was unable to keep from making an indignant noise at that.

 _“He brought with him many Tylwyth of his court, who were to become the Hunt,”_ Lord Hiruz said, putting emphasis into the words not because of their content to but reinforce the fact that he was _reciting_ and so further interruptions would not be tolerated, Keda or not. “And the Tylwyth took our language and used it wrongly; and the Irvinrdisganheid was not acknowledged nor the Irvinrkallrene respected; and the only way we could protest and protect ourselves from our King was to give but _three_ of our number to the Hunt. So I did come to join the Hunt and live amongst the descendants of those who had slaughtered my people, so that the Irvinrkallrene could continue to operate without interference though our King respected them not.

Then came the demon Mephistopheles, bringing ruin and catastrophe to the Hunt- but the Domdruc had reason to be joyful, as well, for now we were once again free. Many years passed and we learned to live with the demon; and the Irvinrkallrene was for the first time accorded some measure of respect by the other Kings of Honalee, for they saw me as the Knight-Protector of the Jägerskov, the last of the Hunt to remain still in the Hunt’s home territory.”

This was where the story Lord Hiruz had told Ivan had stopped, because the elk had then used the Domdruc’s opinion on the fall of the Hunt and everything that had come before it to illustrate just how important it was that the demographics of the Hunt was now 50% Honalenier, 40% human, and 10% fey, _Seelenkind,_ or fey-descended Honalenier; and that of the Honalenier 30% were Domdruc, 20% were from the Steppes, and 15% from Lanka Kubera.

82.5% of Jäger- Ivan knew these statistics well, since he’d been the one to put them together- were human, or had human ancestry, or were from Honalenier peoples who had never held human slaves and had a tradition of taking in escaped kidnapped humans as full members of their societies. It represented a major demographics shift, and one that a number of Honalenier were not pleased with.     

This was where the story as Ivan had heard had stopped; but Lord Hiruz took a deep breath and continued into territory that Ivan _knew_ of, but had never heard in such a form before.

“Then came the day when Mayet who serves Ereshkigal came to the Irvinrkallrene and told us that a new King had been found for us, the child of Nations come from the human lands on a mission of vengeance against the demon. We called together our peoples and told them of her coming, and many ran with her in the Hunt against the demon. So came the Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor to the Domdruc and Domdruharc, she has joined the worlds and left the Irvinrdisganheid and the Irvinrkallrene to the Domdruc in recognition of our legitimacy, as Jagdsprinz Erlkönig had not.”

Lord Hiruz bowed his head to Nia, who looked embarrassed to be included in the official history of her people.

“And so we gather here today,” he concluded, finally reaching the formula that announced the business of each Irvinrkallrene. “Under the authority given to us by the Irvinrdisganheid, to discuss the matter of our peoples’ settlement upon the planet of Theiostea.”

“We’re here for _what?_ ” Kommandant Terenzia Agresta said.

 “If I may, Keda Hrauketrieg?” Nia asked.

“They are under your authority, Jagdsprinz,” the griffin said.

She looked at each of the Jäger in turn.

“I don’t know which of you have heard of this yet,” she told them. “Because it’s supposed to be kept as secret as it can be until late April, but next year Venice is going to be launching a colony ship from Verona, commissioned from HabéTech, to start a settlement on Theiostea. It’s one of the planets deeded to humanity in the Tripartite Treaty, but given that it’s _Venice,_ it’s going to be a mixed human and Honalenier settlement. We’re going to be providing a Jäger contingent, to serve not only in our regular capacity, but also as the settlement’s police force. The six of you are going to be High Command.”

Ivan could feel Diana’s spike of anxiety.

“Nico’s not coming?” she asked.

“No, he’s not, Diana,” Nia told her. “He’s Zaubführer, and there’s no one else in the entire Zauber Division who could replace him. He _has_ to stay here.”

“But _I’m_ Unterführer for the Personnel branches of the Departments,” she argued. “You need _me_ just as much-”

“I need you more on Theiostea, Diana,” the Jagdsprinz told her. “You’re the one who built the Departments from the ground up. You’ll be doing that again on Theiostea, for the Hunt, and probably helping the civilian government do the same. I can promote Leontiy Yurivitch to your position here, and Michela Di Pasqua to his. Unless you think that I should pick different people?”

Ivan had worked with both Leutnant Yurivitch and Kommandant Di Pasqua- they were good choices, and Diana knew it. She didn’t say anything.

“Hauptmann Héderváry.”

Árpád straightened up some.

“Effective immediately,” Nia told him. “You now hold the rank of Leutnant, and are the commanding officer for the Zauber Jäger on Theiostea. I want you to go through the Division and pick three or four dozen or so people to go with you. They should be good at magic that can be used for agricultural, or industrial, or construction purposes. All of the Jäger going, from whatever part of the Hunt, are going to be working hand-in-hand with the civilian government and the settlers to get everything running properly. This is supposed to be a _permanent_ settlement, so the foundation needs to be as good as possible. You’ll have Terenzia with you to make your Witchbreaker contingent- so try not to pull from them, will you?”

Árpád opened their mouth to speak.

“And _yes,_ you’re also going to be in charge of keeping the horses safe and healthy,” she sighed.

They smiled, and distantly, Ivan could hear them start to think about who they would pick to come to Theiostea.

“Marschall Braginski.”

“Yes, Jagdsprinz?” he asked.

“I’m assigning you to go to Theiostea for two reasons,” Nia said. “One- you’re a Marschall of the Hunt, and authorized to act on my behalf. Theiostea is on the other side of the galaxy, and it’s going to take a while to get there. The Jäger are going to have to be able to act without direct orders from me, so I expect them to take them from _you._ As such, I’ve also given you control of our part of this project from here on out.”

So _that’s_ what those files had been.

“I wish you luck in it,” she told him. “Two- Theiostea is on _the other side of the galaxy,_ and there’s not going to be any help coming from Earth in time to respond to any sort of emergency. I don’t know who exactly is going to go on this journey yet, but I’m pretty certain I don’t trust them to know everything they need to about farming and establishing a new town and living without an industrial base. _You_ know about that, so I’d like you to make sure they don’t get themselves killed because they don’t know as much as they think they do.”

 That sounded an awful lot like running an elementary school classroom, and Ivan had done _that._

“I will do my best,” he promised. “But you said the _six_ of us. I count five people here not associated with the Irvinrkallrene. Is Arik the sixth?”

He was half-Pict, and if Ivan knew _anything_ about Venice, it was that jumping into an unexploited trade niche with the Pict was _exactly_ the sort of thing Feliciano would be behind. Arik would be a logical choice.

“It’s not Arik,” the Jagdsprinz said. “I’m not sending him for the same reason that I’m sending more Zauber than any other garrison has, and a full three Regiments of Jäger for a population that might not even be double the number of people we provide. The Pict lied to us.”

Ivan snorted, unsurprised.

“This is currently confidential information,” Nia told them all. “So none of you, Jäger or Irvinrkallrene, are to talk about it with anyone who doesn’t already know. The planets that the Pict deeded away in the Tripartite Treaty were the planets united in a trade confederacy under a people called the Ramman. They were powerful enough and advanced enough to have a network of wormholes or teleporters or _something_ put in place for straight system-to-system travel. They are the only people besides humans that the Pict never assimilated- _because the Pict never figured out where they went._ ”

She fixed them all with individual looks to emphasize the point.

“Theiostea was their home planet. The only reason Venice is still going is because they committed too much to the project to _not_ go after the Pict told Csaba and Akane Héderváry the story when they handed over the coordinates and navigation system for the colony ship. The Ramman might still be there, on that planet, or come back to it. So I’m not going to send Arik, because I’m certain that would cause a horrible misunderstanding; and I’m sending as many Jäger as I feasibly can for protection. I don’t know what good it will do if the Ramman want their planets back, but it’s the best I can do. If they _do_ turn up, I want you all to make it _very clear_ to them that we’ve been played by the Pict and aren’t trying to start a war or anything with them.”

There was silence as everyone thought this over.

“Adalram, Magda, and Terenzia,” Nia said after a few moments. “I’m going to assigning you with the full complement of your Regiments to Theiostea. Make sure that your people know the extended scope of their duties as Jäger, and that they’ll be expected to help with construction and farming and other manual labor as expected. That’s something _none_ of you are exempt from, by the way, because it’s going to take everyone available to get that settlement to a level where it can grow and support its own, on-planet network of towns and industry and everything else. Adalram-”

 “Yes?”

“It’s worked out that you’re the only Honalenier in High Command,” she told him apologetically. “And besides your _other_ extra duties, I need you to act in a special capacity. Most of the Honalenier going who aren’t part of the Hunt will be Thálassian- but I expect the next biggest group to be the Domdruc. I need you to work very closely with Marschall Braginski, and both of you with the colonial Governor that _Razanás Venezia_ is going to appoint, to make sure that the government that gets set up is equal for everyone- and incorporates the Irvinrdisganheid.”

Hrauketrieg’s head shot around.

“Jagdsprinz,” they said. “The Irvinrdisganheid is _here!_ You _cannot_ just _take-_ ”

“I’m not going to do anything to it,” Nia promised. “But the Domdruc whom this body approves to go to Theiostea will still be Domdruc, and in need of _something_ like the Irvinrkallrene to see that the Irvinrdisganheid is kept so far away from Domdruharc. Adalram is on the Irvinrkallrene here, and so I thought he could be trusted to uphold those same responsibilities on Theiostea. Do you disagree, as Keda?”

The griffin stared at her for a long moment.

“I do not disagree, Jagdsprinz,” they said. “But kindly leave us to our duties, now.”

* * *

“ _Prinz_ Beiltz-”

Her combination live-in doctor and personal assistant stopped herself and carefully enunciated to correct her Rinnrsdrusk difficultly with the German _‘sch’_ sound.

“ _Prinz_ Beilschmidt,” she said correctly. “Are you all right?”

“You said I had three years left to live,” Zell told her. “I’ll be perfectly all right until then.”

Vinzfern was- unfortunately, Zell sometimes thought, when she was particularly irritated- the very model of üldrene pack loyalty, and wasn’t going to let something like Zell insisting that she had lived ninety-one years in her body and knew _very well_ when something was wrong with it get in the way of her professional medical opinion.

“That number is only if nothing _else_ happens, _Prinz_ ,” Vinzfern said sternly. “Are you _certain-_ ”

“The only thing bothering me is the intrinsic inability of magic to create a universal translation spell,” Zell retorted, smacking the papers she was reviewing onto the table. “Or even _any_ sort of translation spell. This is a constant source of disappointment to me, and I am feeling it acutely at the moment.”

Vinzfern sat down next to her at the table, sweeping her wolf tail through the opening in the back of the chair.

“The Jagdsprinz is many things in her authority,” she said. “But I have to disagree with her decision to give you this assignment.”

“That’s not what happened,” Zell told her. “ _I_ told Nia I’d do this, because it’s _important_ and I was tired of the UN trying to tell me to retire. This way I get something productive to do, the UN can still technically employ me because I haven’t actually quit but not have me in charge of the Martigny diplomatic mission, _and_ Nia doesn’t have strangers trying to get the most important part of her university together. _You,_ Dr. Vinzfern, were the price my sister had me pay for volunteering.”

“ _Prinz,”_ Vinzfern said gently. “That’s not what happened. I’m not titled _‘doctor’_ because there isn’t a medical school on Earth yet that will validate my medical practice in the Jägerskov; and the Jagdsprinz didn’t hire me to take care of you. I’m getting married to Émilie in a couple of hours. This is a familial duty.”

Émile? Émile?

“Yes, of course,” Zell muttered. “Émilie.”

She’d just- she’d just had Émilie’s file- it was-

She pressed her hands down flat on the table so she’d have to stop sifting through the papers. She didn’t need to find it right now.

Why had she taken out all of the files if the wedding was in a couple of hours?   

That- that didn’t make any _sense._

“If you’re getting married to Émilie,” Zell told her soon-to-be granddaughter-in-law. “You shouldn’t be calling me _Prinz._ I’m not a prince; that’s Nia.”

“It’s not German, _Prinz,_ it’s Rinnrdrusk,” Vinzfern reminded her. “It’s a false cognate. It doesn’t mean _‘prince’;_ it’s a courtesy title for someone important _._ Would you rather I called you _‘my lady’_?”

 _“Or,”_ Zell said. “You could call me _Grand-mère,_ like Émilie does.”

“After the wedding, my Lady,” the huldrene told her. “Until then, I haven’t yet attained the proper status for such a thing.”

Fifty years this past January since the Hunt had come to rest in Martigny, and the rigidness of the top strata of the Honalenier social order _still_ grated on her.

“Why did I take these out?” she asked instead of commenting on it.

“You were complaining about the lack of translation spells.”

“Well it’s a _pain!_ ” Zell exclaimed, waving her hand at the papers. “I have to staff three different departments with what will amount to basically the same people, and they have to have a good balance of English, French, German, Italian, Kuberan, Ztoca, Trade Creole, Venetian, and Rinnrdrusk to be able to teach everything that needs teaching- but I don’t think there’s a _single_ person in either world who speaks _all_ of them! _Look_ at this!”

She snatched up a handful of papers at random and started going through them.

“Chetanpa Ajitya- Kuberan, Trade Creole, French! Kullipishqu- Ztoca, Kuberan, Trade Creole, English! Basim El-Amin- Arabic, French, Italian, Trade Creole! Lana Kirkland- English, French, German, Rinnrdrusk, Trade Creole! Mosé- Venetian, Italian, German, English, Trade Creole, Rinnrdrusk! Odettevon Rothbart, _she’s_ something- German, French, Trade Creole, Tylwyth, Rinnrdrusk, Italian, Thálassian, Kuberan!”

Zell threw the papers down on the table.

“But I can’t have them _all_ teaching language classes, because half of them have _other_ jobs to do, either in the Hunt or in the university! But the students we take either _have_ to be academically fluent in English, French, German, Kuberan, Ztoca, and the Trade Creole; _or_ we need to have every piece of writing we plan on using translated into each!”

Wait, _that_ was why she’d taken the files out.

“Vinzfern, where’s the spare paper?” she asked. “I need to write things down for Nia, so I can give it to her when we’re at the ceremony.”

“You don’t need to do that, my Lady,” Vinzfern told her. “The Jagdsprinz has been here for almost two hours now.”

Zell stopped hunting around for the spare paper and stared at the wall.

“Damn,” she said quietly. “This wasn’t- this wasn’t supposed to be a _bad_ day.”

“It’s not a bad day,” Vinzfern reassured her. “Your husband had bad days, my Lady- you have short, infrequent periods of forgetfulness, and it will never get any worse than that.”

“I- I took my medicine, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“They should have had it for Rémy.”

“It wasn’t finished in time- but with good fortune, the university and the Jagdsprinz will be able to get some outside human authority to _approve_ it,” Vinzfern said. “Shall I go to the Jagdsprinz for you?”

 ** _“NIA!”_** Zell yelled.

Her sister turned up shortly, and Vinzfern bowed her way out.

“I was wondering why you’d left me with Emildis,” she remarked, looking at the files. “Not that my great-grandniece isn’t wonderful, but she’s _very_ caught up at the moment with the idea of _‘Prinz Emildis hren Vinzfern Beilschmidt, Lady of the Jagdsprinz’s Court’_. She won’t believe me when I tell her I don’t _have_ a real Court.”

“I did?” Zell asked.

Nia just nodded- and Zell remembered that she really loved her sister, because she wouldn’t do a _thing_ but silently acknowledge that forgetfulness was occurring; no constant concern from _her-_ and continued.

“But Isolde’s perfectly happy to take her. If anybody starts up an actual Court, it will be her; or I’ll give it to Liesl and _she_ can do it over in Vaduz. Martigny is _government_. I haven’t got any nobility and I’m not about to create any, and all of my officials are civilian appointees or elected. If rich and important people want to go socialize with each other just because they’re rich and important, they can go do it _somewhere else._ I don’t want them in my Hall unless I had to invite them to some state occasion or they’ve come to help me finance something.”

“I heard that _‘republicanism’_ has become a dirty word in Honalee,” Zell told her, smiling.

“I’ve heard that joke before,” Nia said. “And it’s not funny. There is a certain point to which I will go with this mandatory authoritarianism thing; and then no further. I did it for the Hunt, I’ll put on airs as Jagdsprinz- and that is _all_ they’re getting from me. The Domdruc are happy, and everybody else can go fall down a hole somewhere.”

She indicated the papers.

“You wanted to talk to me about the university?”

“Nia,” Zell said. “It’s not _‘putting on airs’_ if it _is_ actually your authority.”

“I’d rather talk about the university.”

“Someday you’ll be known as Jagdsprinz Rousseau and not Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor.”

“I’ve heard that one too and that one is only _kind_ of funny,” Nia said. “ _Please,_ Zell- the university.”

“ _‘Class, today we will be covering the early years of the reign of Prince Lavinia the Republican of Martinach-Liechtenstein, who infamously- despite uniting four entirely separate territories under one crown- absolutely **refused** to acknowledge her delusion that she was an elected head of government-’_”

_“Zell.”_

“Fine,” Zell said. “But it’s not the _Presidential_ University of Martinach-Liechtenstein; it’s the _Princely_ University of Martinach-Liechtenstein.”

“I _know_ that, it’s the Orthographic Institute that came up with the name and the need-”

“The _Royal_ Institute for Honalenier Trade Creole and Rinnrdrusk Orthographic Standardization and Develop-”

“Will you _stop?_ ”

“Nia,” Zell said. “Heinz agrees with me on this- you have a quadruple monarchy _and_ Rome proclaimed you General of the Republic Protectorate. It’s hilarious- terrible, but hilarious. Very _schadenfreude._ ”

“Don’t _call me_ the General of the Republic Protectorate- I sound like a military dictator when you say that.”

“That’s _half_ of why it’s terrible,” Zell told her. “How you got Liechtenstein is the other half.”

“How can _you_ of all people joke about that?” Nia asked.

“Because if I have to think about it,” she told her sister. “Then I can either joke about it, or feel horrible. I have enough grief over Rémy, and I don’t need any more.”

“Zell,” Nia sighed after a moment. “What did you want to tell me about the university?”

Zell looked down at the files.

“I don’t remember.”

“Was it the Honalenier Studies department?” Nia asked.

“ _Everything_ is the Honalenier Studies department,” Zell retorted. “The Magical Philosophy, Theory, and Practical Applications department is Honalenier Studies. Modern and International Politics department is Honalenier Studies. The _entire_ School of Languages is-”

“The languages!” she exclaimed. “ _That_ was it!”

“You figured out who will be the main professors for the departments?” Nia asked.

“Most of them,” Zell said. “And a lot of them I’d like to replace, but Émilie can’t go recruiting until after the wedding- how much time do we have?”

“About two hours until it’s time to go?”

“You should write this down,” Zell told her, and Nia found the spare paper she’d unsuccessfully searched for earlier. “Basim El-Amin can teach Italian, Chetanpa Ajitya Kuberan, Kullipishqu Ztoca, and Odette French. I’d also like to make Odette Dean of the School of Languages.”

“It will keep her out of trouble,” Nia agreed.

“Odette hasn’t been trouble since Luisa,” Zell said.

“Then you haven’t talked to her lately,” Nia told her. “She’s turned into a firebrand reformer- she’s all about shaking up the Tylwyth nobility and kickstarting a cultural revolution in the arts. The nobles are going to _hate_ having her as Queen, assuming she hasn’t gotten the lot of them struck from the nobility or executed for something by then.”

“Universities are the traditional place for reformers and revolutionaries,” Zell said. “So she should work out fine. Now just about anyone can teach the Trade Creole, but I’d like to be able to poach someone from the Royal Orthographic Institute to do it, since they know the revised version the best.”

“I’ll make sure someone asks them,” Nia said. “One of them should agree.”

“Mosé can teach Venetian and Lana can have English,” Zell continued. “But when Mosé is free I need him in the School of Law more; and Lana is going to be running the Magical Theory department, so I’d rather get other people for that. I’m going to have Émilie go to Venice and find someone who knows Venetian _and_ Thálassian, because ideally they’ll go together. But if we can’t find anyone else for Venetian then I’ll just let that department slide for a while. We don’t require it _just_ yet. We really do need someone for English, though. And I’d like to be able to have at least one class on the Swiss German here, besides Standard German, which I _still_ need someone for because asking Lana and Odette to double up on it wouldn’t be fair and wouldn’t leave room for the other things I need them to do. The German and French departments should also be some of the biggest in the school.”

“You sound like you have everything handled.”

“I really don’t,” Zell said. “It only seems that way because there’s so much paper. Ivan did a good job starting all of this, but there’s a lot to do until the university is ready to open.”

* * *

Huldrene didn’t get married.

Most of them didn’t even have a special ceremony for pairing. Kodrene and bedrene, the wildcat and bear huldrene, didn’t even have consistent partners- females bore the babies, or kits, or cubs, and the males didn’t get involved anywhere along the way except for the sex part. Ärdrene, the wolverine huldrene, had a pair or a triad of females who chose a male to do the fathering, and that was a very stable family unit, but the traditions there were very private. The females built a dwelling for a male to inhabit in their home territory- their harke- invited ones they liked until one of them accepted, and that was it.

Üldrene were the exception, because their structures in human-form, like the other huldrene, were modeled on their animal-form. Still, wolves didn’t really do _marriage;_ and when they sort-of did, it was entirely a question of the mother of the pack-family trying to pass her sons off to the alpha-female-in-waiting of other pack heads, so they could become the mating male in another pack-family once daughter succeeded mother.

Huldrene celebrated the yearly estrus cycles, because that was the occasion of making the babies and the cubs and the kits and the pups for next year- or a reason for everyone who wasn’t off having sex to have a really big party- and they celebrated the birth of the babies and the cubs and the kits and pups each year in the spring. They didn’t celebrate the _who_ of the arrangement, because it just wasn’t important to them.

But they were calling this a marriage ceremony, because the _who_ was important to humans, and Émilie and Vinzfern were a human and Honalenier couple.

Having the celebration in early April worked out nicely between the traditions, at least. Spring and summer was the usual time for Christian marriages, and the huldrene’s celebration of the births usually fell somewhere in April. They already had five-year-old Emildis, and Émilie was visibly pregnant with Louis Rémy, who was due in autumn sometime.

The huldrene regarded the constant fertile state of humans to be a major design flaw- babies could be born in _entirely_ the wrong part of the year- and their occasions of having to deal with it while in human-form rather than animal-form distinctly annoying.

But Vinzfern was pairing up with a member of the Jagdsprinz’s family, so _her_ family was willing to put up with this _‘marriage’_ thing, and the fact that their second child was going to be born almost in _winter._

“You know that adult male üldrene who can’t pair off with the daughters of other pack-families can get castrated?” Terenzia remarked quietly to Árpád as Émilie and Vinzfern declared their official intention to start a new harke together, and Emildis as Vinzfern’s alpha-female-in-waiting, as per üldrene custom.

“What?” Árpád asked.

“I had to explain to a lot of üldrene that that’s not what _I_ was doing,” Terenzia said. “They’re a lot more invested in your sexual capacity than your gender identity. That’s why they’re always talking about _‘male’_ and _‘female’_ and accidentally insulting humans.”

“They seemed pretty well-informed about gender to me,” they said.

“That’s because I got there first,” Terenzia told them. “But they still kind of seem to think that physical transition is a good method of population control. I told _Tante_ Zell to make sure she gets some classes about comparative gender and sexuality into her program. But they’re getting better, I guess. I mean, they’re not _upset_ by queer people or anything. It’s just, y’know, a cultural thing.”    

“Castration is a cultural thing?”

“No one’s _making_ them do it,” she said. “Nobody’s hunting down unattached males and holding them down while they go for the scrotum. It’s just that there’s social prestige to it, because you can go anywhere with anybody and nobody has to worry about anybody having sex where they’re not supposed to. Kodrene mothers do it to their sons sometimes, too, to keep them from dying in fights during estrus season.”

“That’s interesting, Terenzia,” Árpád said. “But why is _now_ a good idea to bring this up?”

“Because I thought of it,” she told them. “And because I was thinking about us getting married, and space. _Tante_ Nia and Marschall Braginski are expecting a lot of üldrene and ärdrene to get matched up and go to Theiostea- it’ll be good for the üldrene, especially, because now all of the unattached females who wanted harke and families of their own but there wasn’t the land or production for can go to Theiostea and get basically as much space as they want. And all the unattached males, castrated and otherwise, who want to get paired up can go too. It’s like a social pressure valve. Marschall Braginski was telling me about how colonization does that. Anyway, this is the sort of cultural stuff that we’re all supposed to know about before we go. And I _know_ Adalram is putting himself out to pairs and triads who want to go to see if he can get attached, so we might be meeting wives soon.”

They didn’t talk again until the end of the ceremony. There had developed a standard for human-huldrene matches, especially ones that a church wouldn’t condone, like Émilie and Vinzfern’s. The Jagdsprinz’s part-Catholic part-Domdruc ceremony three years ago had become the pattern for everyone else.

The rings were a purely human contribution to the event, as was most of the talk of love. The huldrene were by no means stranger to the emotion, but love as a marker of an important relationship was more for between siblings, or parents and children. You certainly didn’t have any sort of repeated or long-term sexual relationship with someone you _disliked;_ but the defining factor was usually availability for the kodrene and bedrene, and friendship compatibility for the üldrene and ärdrene. It helped that the relationships weren’t officially binding in any way, either- even an alpha female üldrene could replace her male if she wanted to, though that was considered very rude.

The vows, when they weren’t about love, were very huldrene-flavored, about the responsibility and difficult of establishing and sharing a harke, and raising children. And the guest list was all huldrene, too.

You could invite your friends to your ceremony, but they weren’t the important guests. The important guests were your family- not because this was bringing the two together in any significant way, especially to the huldrene way of thinking, but because the more important people you could show that you had in your family, the more prestigious the whole thing was.

And you couldn’t really beat the Jagdsprinz showing up, with her sister and her children and her wife and Mäelle; and Marlies and Philipp and Princess Chénguāng who had all come from Kūlún specially; and the various cousins in the Hunt- all of the Agrestas, Árpád, Mosé, Luisa, and finally the sole Miccichelo so far to come up from Rome. Marschall Braginski had turned up, too, and seemed very pleased that no one had asked him to leave.

Post-ceremony meant time for food, in the spirit of a dinner party. Later, after the Jagdsprinz and her sister and the others who didn’t care for _actual_ parties had gone, people would get a lot more active.

“You two are getting married before we go to Theiostea, aren’t you?” Diana Agresta demanded once they’d started to move for the food.

“ _Yes, Mamma_ ,” Terenzia told her again. “But Father Abbing hasn’t gotten back to us yet about if he’s allowed to do it or not.”

“I could have just asked _Zio_ Cristoforo,” Nico told them. “He could come up here and do it himself. He did it for Nia’s parents.”

“But Father Abbing is _our_ priest, _Papá_ ,” Terenzia said. “And Sankt Michelmarc is our church. It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Well you’re getting married before we go, no matter who has to do it,” Diana insisted. “Your father and grandmother should be able to come, Árpád; and we shouldn’t do it without your father or grandfathers, Terenzia.”

“ _Mamma,_ we can plan our own wedding. It’s okay.”

Árpád found themself pulled off to the side by their hopefully-soon-to-be father-in-law.

“Do you know who you’re taking to Theiostea, yet?” he asked.

It seemed like all of the conversations they had nowadays circled back to Theiostea. They were starting to get the sneaking suspicion that it would stay this way until they got on the ship to leave.

“I have a general idea,” they told him. “I’m going to take low-level Zauber Jäger, mostly. Not so inexperienced that they can’t handle things, but inexperienced enough that they’ll learn something. I have some ideas.”

“That’s good. Send me a list, will you?”

“I am,” Árpád said. “And I know the Jagdsprinz said to try to not take people from the Witchbreakers, but there’s someone I want for my second-in-command. Emma Miccichelo.”

 _“Really?”_ Zaubführer Agresta said skeptically. “You want _Emma Miccichelo?_ ”

* * *

János always felt sort of guilty coming to Martigny, now. He’d tried to avoid it.

That hadn’t really worked out, though, because his elder child was here; and of course the majority of the renamed HabéTech’s space program. The regional headquarters was the biggest problem, because every time he saw the outside of it he remembered opening day, and the way the letters mounted on the outside had said Navin Technologies before they’d scrubbed Cassiel’s name from everything they could.

At least now the Venetian settlement program was due to be announced in a week, and he’d be able to drop everything because it would, mostly, stop being the company’s problem.

And the company would stop being _his_ problem.

His announcement to the rest of the board that he was going to be resigning had not really been a surprise- at least not for Ásdís, Tomoko, or Øystein. One of the advantages of having a lot of money was that divorce papers could be served in complete silence and you could afford to pay off people not to leak the story to the press when you turned up in court to have your hearing.

Csaba and Akane hadn’t even heard a _whisper_ of speculationthat János and Øystein had had so much as a minor disagreement, let alone divorced nearly six months ago. Neither of them had seemed very surprised about the _fact_ of the divorce- they had always known that it had never been a love match- but they had been surprised, and a little upset, that they hadn’t heard a thing about it.

János’s immediate follow-up announcement that he was going to be leaving the company once the space project was officially announced had caused much more of a problem. He hadn’t told anyone about _that,_ but the ever-so-helpful and paid-to-be-silent lawyers had made absolutely certain for him that he’d be leaving with nothing but his own money and possessions. He had a very talented Ztoca sorcerer lined up to take over the position he’d abruptly inherited from Cassiel Navin, and the best astrophysics team and mathematician waiting in the wings to support her. He was leaving all of Cassiel’s schematics, and had even signed a non-disclosure agreement that included HabéTech being given the rights for the things he’d developed for them.

He’d provided all of the documents he’d been amassing to the rest of the board, and they’d seemed disconcerted, but he’d thought that that was the end of it.

Csaba had cornered him later that day and said: “This company has been my entire life- you and _Far_ and Akane’s mothers _made_ it my entire life- and now you’re just going to _walk away?_ ”

“I can’t stay, Csaba,” János had told his son. “Not after what Cassiel did. I can’t stay _here,_ in this building; and I can’t keep working for the company. I’ve been trying, and I just can’t do it any longer.”  

Csaba hadn’t talked to him since then, and János had been living out of a hotel in Martigny so he could finish up with the space program. He’d been stepping directly from his apartment to the labs and offices and he hadn’t even told the board that he was living in Martigny for the time being, so no one was supposed to know that he was _here-_

But he came back from work one evening to find Zell Beilschmidt and a huldrene sitting in his suite’s receiving room anyway.

“Your doorman is üldrene,” Zell informed him. “And we’re cousins. That’s enough reason for him to let me in.”

The woman with her was üldrene too, János noticed, from her wolf tail. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met an üldrene who wasn’t related to any other given üldrene through some combination of direct female-line descent, sibling- or cousinhood, and mate-kinship, traceable back through more generations and layers of litter-groups than he cared to count. That had probably helped, too.

“I heard you’re quitting your job,” Zell continued.

“What?” János asked. “From _who?_ ”

“Despite what people seem to think,” Zell said. “Arik _can_ in fact do his job. Just because Nia doesn’t like the idea of spying doesn’t mean he isn’t doing it, or that he’s not good at it. It’s just restricted to a very few specific entities, so most of the world thinks they don’t do _anything._ ”

“Who in God’s name is he spying on?”

“If you could prove that I knew who,” Zell said. “Why would I tell _you?_ ”

János made a note to himself to remember that the rumors about Mäelle Beilschmidt being Martinach-Liechtenstein’s Director of Intelligence were _definitely_ true, even if she was a Jäger officer working in the Diplomacy and Public Relations Department. He’d have to find some way to discretely downgrade her security clearance with HabéTech, or drop some hints before he left.

But maybe he wouldn’t. It wasn’t like the Hunt or Martinach-Liechtenstein had any reason to try to compete with HabéTech for any market shares; and even if they _did_ get company trade secrets, Nia was Jagdsprinz. She wouldn’t do anything with them.

And maybe if the Hunt had been spying on HabéTech back when it was Navin Technologies- maybe then-

“I’m here to offer you alternate employment.”

“I don’t want to join the Hunt,” he said immediately. It had never held any draw for him, and he wasn’t really sure why Nico had dropped everything to join up. Sure, he’d said he’d been scared of the Camorra- but there were easier ways to avoid that, weren’t there?

“If Nia wanted you to join the Hunt,” Zell told him. “She would have come here herself and she probably would have brought Nico with her. Or Nico would have just come himself and refused to leave until you gave in. I know he’s been _this_ close to doing something like that to Lana Kirkland since she let herself get caught up in the Witchbreakers.”

“It’s not like she’s going anywhere,” János said. “ _Or_ me. We’re not- Zell, I’m not _aging._ ”

“We had noticed,” she said dryly. “I’m the only one in this room who looks ninety-one. I’m certain I’m the only one who’s _feeling_ it. We were forty-five when you left for Honalee, and anybody would swear you were still living in 2055.”

“If you’re not here on behalf of the Hunt, what could you _possibly_ need me for?” he asked, sitting down. “It seems a bit late in the game for you to want anything magical.”

“I’ve had plenty of magic in my life, thank you,” Zell said. “But I _am_ getting into higher education, and I’d like you to come along. Have you heard of Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein?”

János hadn’t, but he had some suspicions.

“ _That’s_ why the government has been buying up buildings around Avenue du Grand-Saint-Bernard where it crosses the Dranse? Up the road from the Market?”

“Lothar Habsburg was very accommodating about selling cheap when he found out he could endow the School of Business,” Zell told him, smiling slightly. “And I thought that you might want to get in on this, since you’re part of the some of the founding organizations.”

“I’m what?”

“Your correspondence circle with Nico and Lana and the others was part of this,” she said. “And your company’s Adult Education and Recruitment Initiative, too.”

That was the program János’s hiring had technically started. Navin Technologies had needed more magic users, and the only way to do that was to go recruiting in Martigny and Honalee.

“That’s unofficial, though,” she continued. “The base concept came from the Royal Institute for Honalenier Trade Creole and Rinnrdrusk Orthographic Standardization and Development. They ran in the same circles as the people from the Council for Swiss German Orthography; who work a lot with the Center for the Promotion of Swiss Languages, Culture, and Identity; who are very closely aligned with the Martigner Arts, Humanities, and Heritage Council, seeing as how Martinach the closest thing there is now to a Swiss state. The Royal Orthographic Institute were created to sort out their languages so they could be used in the government, and the Swiss German Orthography people were doing the same thing, and they both needed some way to _teach_ people how to use their rules.”

“And so a university.”

“No, _they_ were just going to run a joint program. But the Small Merchants’ Union of Nysa and the Dranse- I _know_ you know them- needed some way for the Honalenier members to really _learn_ how human finance and business worked, and the human members to really understand how the Honalenier system operates, to _they_ were going to start a program too. The Kaschievan Opera and Theater was running their _own_ program with the Arts, Humanities, and Heritage Council; and then one of the members of the Council got appointed to the Development Committee for the City of Martigny, and Small Merchants’ Union came to the Committee to complain about the difficulties they were having their program, and the whole thing turned into the Consortium of Educational, Cultural, and Economic Development for Citizens of Martinach-Liechtenstein- though it was only Martinach then- and Honalee.”

“Wait,” János said, spelling it out in his head. “Is that those CECED people who’ve been sponsoring advertisements and taking donations everywhere?”

“It is,” Zell told him. “But you’ve run into donations and fundraisers then you probably saw the CECED Foundation people.”

“Oh God,” János said. “It’s nested political-economic bodies. Like how Ásdís made sure to set up a charity and a foundation and a scholarship fund when the company took off.”

“Isn’t politics wonderful?” Zell asked happily. “But we’re not quite to the university yet, because then the Bank of Martigny joined CECED, which got Nia more directly involved. So when she got petitioned by Lana to make her school an official part of the public school system for Martinach, _and_ the Fellowship of Ztoca Mechaneers came to represent a group complaint from Honalenier of every Kingdom and professional stripe that Earth universities weren’t accepting any of the education _they’d_ had, she called the CECED leadership in for a meeting with Lana and the Mechaneers and made Nico go too, and they did a lot of talking and decided that a university specifically dedicated to getting Honalenier the educational credentials they needed to operate on Earth and humans the knowledge they really needed to interact with Honalee was the best way to go.”

“If you want me to give you money-”

“We have _plenty_ of money,” Zell cut him off. “Between rich Liechtensteiners who want the prestige of _finally_ having a university to their state’s name to personal financial backing from about half the Kings of Honalee, some private donors, public contributions, and taxes, I don’t need to ask you. You are, of course, free to donate anyway.”

“I don’t know anything about higher education,” János protested. “I only _went_ through university, I never _taught_ there or anything.”

“But you taught Árpád a lot of what they know about magic and they turned out fine,” Zell said. “And you have first-hand experience of wandering around Honalee as a human who doesn’t know anything. When I told Nia I wanted in on this project, it was because I knew there needed to be a program that diplomats and civil servants could take to learn what they needed to know about Honalee. That’s the Honalenier Studies department now; and the School of Language, the Magical Theory department, and the Modern and International Politics department all got sort of folded into it. I need German professors, you know German; Lana’s going to be head of the Magical Theory department and needs help since she’ll _also_ be teaching English, you’ve taught magic before and have an awful lot of practice in applying magic to things, probably more than anyone outside of the Hunt’s Workshop. And you’ll also be available to talk about your experiences in Honalee.”

“And what if I don’t _want_ to be a professor?” János asked. “What if I already have plans?”

He didn’t actually have any plans. He’d sort of decided that he’d go back to his mother’s horse farm and stay for a while, but after that his only real urge was to wander around Honalee again; or maybe follow the ships up to space.

It certainly looked like he’d have plenty of time to do whatever he wanted, after all. He may never have wanted to join the Hunt, but as far as he’d been able to tell for the past fifty or so years, he might as well as have eaten one of those Golden Apples.

“You haven’t got any other plans,” Zell told him, and János had no idea if she was just guessing, had somehow deduced it, or if her granddaughter the Martigny Director of Intelligence and her nephew the Leutnant of the Intelligence and Internal Affairs Department had been spying on _him,_ particularly. “And I’m not asking for a lifetime contract, János- just enough to get us going. Five years at first, and then you can decide to leave or stay or both.”

She handed him a brochure.

“Émile is out recruiting professors right now,” she told him. “So think about it, and get back to me quickly if you want the job.”

* * *

Emma Miccichelo had grown up knowing Jäger on the streets in Rome as her life, and hearing her great-grandfather’s lectures on the relationship of the Hunt and the sort of magic that they did, and that the Honalenier did, and that the fey humans who were born to it did; and how that was different than the witches that the Bible said you were supposed to kill.

Emma Miccichelo had grown up firmly believing in witches and demons, and it had all seemed kind of pressing, in a way she couldn’t really explain and only knew about because her father wasn’t as Catholic as he _could_ have been and her grandmother was still very Catholic, but had never really been worried about witches and demons. God, and her father the Church, would protect her.

God would protect _her_ too, Emma was certain. God and Jesus and the Virgin Mary, and Saint Peter and the Archangel Gabriel and Saint Catherine of Alexandria, whom she’d taken as her patron saint upon her Confirmation.

It was just that- it had always seemed to Emma that witches and demons were more _real_ to her than they were to anyone but her great-grandfather, who had made sure to explain everything very clearly to her.

She’d gotten the feeling that he’d been hoping she’d dedicate her life to the Church, or something- but she went to Martinach-Liechtenstein and joined the Hunt instead. It was led by someone whose _actual title_ was “Demon-killer,” so this was clearly the place to be if you were going to fight evil.

There had been a wonderful dearth of demons and witches when she’d joined, and Cassiel Navin had been over a decade previously but Emma still remembered hearing about it from her great-grandfather, so she knew _exactly_ the sort of things that could be lurking around. She was meant to join the Witchbreakers.

She applied.

Her application was rejected.

When she pressed, she was told it was because she had no more natural magic than any other human. _“The Seelenvolk has been bred out of your family,”_ were the actual words that the Hauptmann she’d finally gotten an answer from had said to her.

This was, in Emma’s opinion, bullshit.

So _what_ if she’d never do any more magic than she could accomplish by spilling her own blood or breaking parts of herself? Who said that she _had_ to do magic to be a Witchbreaker? The only actual requirement for the job was the ability to find, catch, and bind witches. People had just been _assuming_ that you had to have magic to do that.

But wasn’t most of what the Witchbreakers carried around in their kits anti-magic material? Didn’t that imply that it was more important to _block_ the witches’ magic than to use any you had yourself? 

Emma had gone to all the classes she could on magic, at Lana Kirkland’s school and some public talks by other people. She hung around the Workshop lobby. She put together her own kit.

And then she jumped Workshop security, incapacitated them, walked onto the Workshop floor, clamped her hand down on Zaubführer Agresta’s wrist, and told him: “I just killed your security and got you with a dampening cuff. You are now at my mercy.”

Zaubführer Agresta had set a flash-bang spell off in her face, slammed his knee into her stomach while she was distracted, and pushed her into magically-induced unconsciousness before rushing off to make sure that the Workshop security hadn’t _actually_ been killed- but it wasn’t like she had _actually_ tried to take him out.

She woke up locked in some closet in the Jagdshall, but it had been totally worth it, because when Zaubführer Agresta had dragged her in front of the Jagdsprinz, Teufelmördor had had to try really hard to not laugh at him for getting jumped and it kind of hadn’t worked.

“Nico,” she’d told him. “If you _don’t_ take her, I’ll have to give her to Arik and he’ll probably decide to turn her into a super-spy-assassin or something. If she washes out of training, she washes out; and in the meantime you get data for research purposes.”

Emma learned very quickly that Zaubführer Agresta could be swayed to a lot by the promise of gathering data for research purposes; and that Leutnantkommandant Luisa Costa, who was actually in official command of the Workshop, could be convinced of basically _anything_ if you told her you were going to try it for research. They were reasonable and sane about it, of course, but it was still a tendency. Emma got a lot of chances to observe it at work while she was doing her assigned punishment detail of cleaning the Workshop floor. She didn’t mind that too much- she was learning things.

Zaubführer Agresta turned her over to Leutnant Demyanev, who was the commanding officer of the Witchbreakers, once she’d finished her punishment detail. He’d taken her into the next class of potential members, and things had gone swimmingly from there. Nobody else was really good at sneaking- the humans just weren’t practiced at it, and a lot of the Honalenier couldn’t reconcile the idea of _‘Jäger’_ with _‘underhanded’_.

She’d seen Zaubführer Agresta again after the final test trip out to the plateau above Tartarus, on the banks of the Phlegethon before it turned into a waterfall, and he’d just shaken his head when her training officer had described how she’d done during the duration of the class.

“We might have to give you to Intelligence and Internal Affairs anyway,” he’d told her, and soon enough she’d found herself on Department posting with Leutnant Beilschmidt.

“Promise I won’t turn you into a super-spy-assassin,” he’d told her cheerfully on her first day. “ _Avus_ Cris would never forgive me.”

Sometimes she forgot that she was cousins with these people- the Miccicheli hadn’t stayed close like the Agrestas and the Beilschmidts had, with the Hunt. Leutnant Beilschmidt was her father’s half-cousin.

True to his word, Leutnant Beilschmidt didn’t turn her into a super-spy-assassin.

But if he had _tried_ to, Emma was certain, she would have been _awesome_ at it.

She was unsurprised when Leutnant Héderváry came to ask her to come to Theiostea as his second-in-command, with accompanying promotion from Offizier to Hauptmann, because Leutnant Beilschmidt didn’t shirk on the _‘Internal Affairs’_ portion of his position any more than he did the _‘Intelligence’_ portion. They _knew_ what was going on in the Hunt, down here.

And so Witchbreaker Hauptmann Emma Miccichelo was pulled from her post with the Department of Intelligence and Internal Affairs to join the Theiostea mission.

* * *

“You’re lucky I like you enough to give up my couch,” was what his sister had said when he’d told her he was coming up from Bologna to start his new job. “It might be an officer’s suite but they only just moved me in now that I’ve been promoted to Hauptmann _and_ I’ll be leaving in just over a year, so you’d better be looking to move out quick. And in the meantime you can help _me_ unpack.”

Nazario Miccichelo was twenty-eight and now _formerly_ employed as a cultural anthropological researcher by the University of Bologna, where he’d earned his Doctorate’sdegree just a year earlier on a thesis about the effects of the Hunt garrisons and Honalenier contact on the social milieu of Rome and Venice.

Despite his thesis, the university had not reacted well to his continued pressure, on behalf of the global anthropological and historical debate about the usefulness and relevancy of allocating resources to the study of Honalee, to fund fieldwork there- _or_ justthe Jägerskov, _or_ the Principality of Martinach-Liechtenstein, _or_ even only the city of Martigny.

But Nazario Miccichelo knew in very soul that- just as his younger sister Emma had felt it to be her calling to join the Wild Hunt to take down witches, or Porfiria’s to do social work, or Elisea and Santo’s to found a small-scale sustainable farm, or Osanno’s to start seminary in the fall, or Piero’s devotion to poetry and even Fiametta’s eleven-year-old certainty that she would become a nun- that the place God had given him in life was to bring knowledge about Honalee to humanity for the enrichment and fostering of better relations between both parties.

So, a year out of his Doctoral program and with a couple of semesters of experience at teaching university classes, he had landed a job at a university that just barely existed. He hadn’t really been looking for it, but his thesis was in the online scholarly databases and Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein’s recruiter had found it and emailed him. The title of the email had read _‘Employment Opportunity in Martigny’_ , and Nazario had immediately known that he was going to take it.

He’d replied to the University of Zurich address, not really sure why _they’d_ have anything to do with it, and gotten information about scheduling a job interview, which he’d immediately done; and then as soon as he’d passed _that_ he’d come up to Martigny.

Emma had had to explain the tram system to him, because the maps were a little unclear in their numbering, but it dropped him off at a station called Vieux Martigny-Croix, at the corner of Avenue du Grand-Saint-Bernard and Rue Fama, which was one of the new roads from the spate of expansion construction. He’d actually passed most of the campus to get there, so when he got off he cut over to Rue Universität, which looked like it had student apartments on it, and headed down past the large green space straddling the Dranse to the big paved courtyard that was clearly the heart of campus. 

The instructions he’d been sent told him that his staff meeting was in the administration building, which turned out to be on the far side of the courtyard. The campus seemed quite nice- it was still shiny, of course, and didn’t look at all lived-in yet, but it would get there. In the meantime, the pristineness of everything had a sort of charm to it, like the wrought iron bridges that connected the two sides of the courtyard over the Dranse.

Dr. Émilie Beilschmidt, the university recruiter, was actually waiting for him in the lobby of the building. Nazario had thought that it had been a little awkward that it had been _family_ who’d come to do his job interview, but Émilie hadn’t seemed at all phased by it.

“We’re upstairs,” she told him. “We’re only waiting on one other person after you.”

The meeting room was, like the rest of the building, curiously large. All of the ceilings were high and the hallways and doorways wide. He didn’t understand it at all until he walked into the meeting room, with its glass outside wall looking out over a low-walled park surrounding another campus building, and saw the- _creature_ seated in a clear space by the long table.

There were two non-humans, actually, that Nazario could see- but he knew what a sphinx looked like. He had no idea what _this_ was.

“That’s Keda Hrauketrieg,” a woman said from behind him, in French.

Nazario’s first impression of her was that she was quite pretty- her hair was colored in parts, brown and white-blonde and ochre red, so it formed patterns in her complicated, precise hairdo, held together with blue ribbons or straps. Her hair didn’t really match up with the rest of her, which was standard business casual. She either didn’t know or didn’t care that her jewelry was much too fancy for the rest of the outfit.

Maybe that was the fashion in Martigny, to be confusing. Things were already a little odd- like with Rue Universität, he kept running into things that were named in two or even three different languages. It stood to reason that fashion could follow suit.

“Keda is their title, not their name,” she continued, and it was a good thing the other language Nazario really knew was French, or he’d probably be looking like an idiot right now. “And they’re a griffin, one of the people of the Domdruc and one of the original members of the Irvinrkallrene.”

Nazario had no idea what some of those words meant, but he figured he’d find out eventually. He could always ask Emma when he went back to her apartment.

“You’ve never been to Martigny before, have you?”

“No,” Nazario said. “My old university wouldn’t pay to me come do research here, so I only got here two days ago- I mean, I was kind of expecting some things, because I grew up in Rome, but it wasn’t like _this._ ”

“Oh, Rome,” she said, and surprised him by switching over into Italian. “The only other Italians we have here are Venetians- over there.”

She pointed to a group clumped around one of the corners of the table, talking to a very old woman.

“That’s Princess _Venexia,_ she’s in charge here.”

So that was _Nonna_ ’s cousin Zell, then- and this woman was _definitely_ Honalenier, which explained the strange looks.

“I’m Nazario Miccichelo,” he told her. “Doctor of Anthropology.”

“Lady Odette von Rothbart ap Ly,” she said. “Miccichelo is one of the _Seelenkind_ families, isn’t it? Your- your sister? My father says she caused quite a stir in the Hunt.”

Nazario was not surprised to hear this. He’d gotten the impression from what Emma had told him that she’d been in the center of a couple of events, even if she wouldn’t actually say _what_ had happened.

“Yes, my sister,” he told Odette. “Is there anyone else I should know?”

“Well you’ll get to know all of them, eventually,” she said. “But I can give you names. You already know Princess _Venexia._ The woman next to her is Vinzfern hren seike, who’s married to Dr. Émilie Beilschmidt. Lady Vinzfern isn’t going to be teaching anything, she’s going to be going through the university as part of the first class to prove that Rinnrdrusk doctors’ credentials are just as good as human doctors’, but she’s taking care of Princess _Venexia_ so she’s around a lot.”

She pointed to the sphinx.

“That’s Master Chetanpa Ajitya, he’s one of the premier scholars in Honalee. I’ve taught with him before. He’s kind of stuck-up, but he’s good. Dayānanda Sumanravi is his secretary but he’s going to be teaching classes too. I already told you about Keda Hrauketrieg- we’re lucky to get them, honestly, but that’s why the Jagdsprinz let her sister take charge of all this. She’s the only one with enough pull in the right places to get the sort of people we needed.”

Nazario’s gaze traveled up the table in preparation for Odette’s next explanation, and stopped on two people standing in front of the windows.

“Wait, I know that man,” he said. “That’s János Héderváry.”

“Prince _Magyarország_ and Princess England,” Odette provided. “But she won’t let you call her that, she’s Ms. Walker-Kirkland to her students and Lana to everyone else. The woman next to Hrauketrieg is Udai Kalyanijaya, one of _Razanás_ Rāvaṇa’s scribes before he sent her here. Cherendai Eshanaraj Temurev is next to her, I really can’t believe that she came off the Steppes to teach. Qorihuallaca is a Ztoca Mechaneer and Tamyachay- I have _no_ idea how Princess _Venexia_ got _her,_ I heard the Jagdsprinz had to ask the High King for her specifically. They call her ‘the Sun,’ you know.”

“I didn’t,” Nazario said. “I have no idea what makes these people famous, or not, or what.”

She looked at him.

“Right,” she said. “Of course you don’t. I’m sorry, I’m used to people knowing. But you’ve heard of Basim El-Amin, right?”

She gestured to a man sitting on their side of the table.

“He’s one of the original singers for the Ardovini Company, we’ve borrowed him from the Kascheivan Opera.”

“I’ve heard of the _Company-_ ”

“And Isolde,” Odette said. “You _have_ to know Isolde. Isolde!”

The person who came over- Nazario _wanted_ to think of her as a young woman, but his brain kept going _‘girl’_. She looked in her late teens, seventeen to nineteen, and he had no idea _why_ anyone would have thought that she would be taken seriously at the front of a classroom.

“ _Razanás_ Martinach, this one of your cousins, Dr. Nazario Miccichelo. Émilie hired him out of Rome.”

“Bologna, actually,” Nazario corrected her. “I just grew up in Rome-”

“I’m Dr. Beilschmidt here, Odette,” the you- the _Nation_ said, frowning.

“Last I knew, Isolde, you hadn’t met any of the Miccicheli,” Odette told her. “I was introducing you. He’s-”

She visibly worked it out in her head.

“-Arik’s aunt’s grandson. Your… half-second cousin? By adoption.”

“You have a doctorate?” Nazario asked. That didn’t seem like a very Nation thing to do.

“Political Science from the University of Lausanne,” Isolde said. “Liesl and Ivan thought I was being silly- but here I am, sixth months out from teaching my first class.”

The door to the meeting room opened and Émilie came in, accompanied by a man in the uniform of the Hunt.

“Leutnant Costa,” Odette told Nazario. “He’s only hired to teach two classes, one about the Tripartite Treaty and one about how the Wild Hunt works. It’s in the department paperwork.”

As everyone sat down to the start the meeting, Nazario counted something like thirty people in the room. That was a lot more faculty than any of _his_ degree programs had ever had. Other people were evidently having the same idea, because there was a lot of deliberate looking around the table.

“Yes, I know there are a lot of you,” Zell Beilschmidt said. “But the Honalenier Studies department is the heart of this university, and we need all of our best people in it.”

He counted as _‘best people’_?

“You’re here because you have a special skillset that we need, you’re acknowledged as experts in your field, or you show promise,” she continued. “I got you all together, but now it’s _your_ job to make it work. For some of you, you’ve never taught as part of a university faculty. For the rest of you, this is the largest academic department you’ve ever been in. Part of the point of this department is to give people enough information to be able to work cross-culturally; so I’m expecting you to set an example and work across _your_ different expectations and points of view to keep everything running smoothly.”

The Director of the Department of Nations’ Affairs that Nazario had gotten some stories from his great-grandfather about was showing in the stern, half-challenging not-quite-glare she leveled at the table. You needed to be just as stubborn as a Nation on a bad day to be able to _really_ work with any of them, _Avus_ Cristoforo had always told them.  

When she was satisfied that everyone had paid attention to her, she moved on to actually begin the meeting.

“For the first order of business- the degree requirements.”

* * *

Assuming that this entire enterprise wasn’t destined to be a giant fucking disaster- which Ivan remained unconvinced it wouldn’t be- the most important people to get to go would be farmers and doctors.

He had a list. Research had been done, and coupled with his own knowledge, he knew that the staple crops of the colony were going to be peas, potatoes, and peanuts; at least until they managed to get the wheat fields sown and planted, the pumpkins harvested, and the fruits matured.

As far as Ivan was concerned, peas were the most wonderful invention of agriculture- sixty days from planting until you had something to eat, and they should still have food supplies from the journey left over then, if they started planting immediately after they landed.

They’d have to plant the alfalfa as soon as they landed, too, because meat rabbits were the most wonderful invention of animal husbandry- one month from breeding to birth, another month until the young rabbits could survive without their mother, and then you could breed the rabbits again. And at the end of the year, the first born rabbits were ready to have their own babies.

They were going to have so many rabbits by the time they landed on Theiostea, enough hopefully to keep them in meat when they had goats and chickens, too. They were planning on taking cows, as well, but those required lots of land and lots of time.

But planning for food was the easy part. The _hard_ part was finding people who weren’t going to cause trouble because they’d signed on liking the _idea_ of homesteading, but completely failed to comprehend that they were going to have exactly no infrastructure and very little food surplus to fall back on if they fucked up the farming, or the crops and animals died because of some environmental factor they didn’t know about, or if the Pict had lied about the readings and measurements they’d taken for the expedition and the landing site wasn’t as close to perfect growing and living conditions as they were likely to find.

If Ivan could have his way, he would only send Honalenier to Theiostea- Domdruc who usually lived half their lives as animals anyway and could always catch their own food, farmers from the borders of the Silent Hills and Chicomoztoc, and the Steppeans-in-name-only who actually _were_ frontiersmen. And if he couldn’t have that, he would have recruited the humans he _had_ to take from the desperately poor and the homeless of the industrialized world, who wouldn’t find Theiostea _easy_ living because it wouldn’t be for anyone, but who would be housed and fed as long as there was food and shelter and would _really_ have just as much opportunity as everyone else to do well; and from the dispossessed local farmers of Africa and South America and Asia who had been bought out by foreign industrial agriculture because growing food to sell to your neighbors just wasn’t profitable, especially when you weren’t as mechanized.

But that would have required international cooperation, which meant it couldn’t very well be funded by a single state. The closest Venice had been able to get- or cared to get- was hiring Italians from the other post-Civil War states and not asking any questions about the contingent of Slovenians and Croatians who had turned up asking for some of the state-funded slots designed to fill the minimal labor requirements.

Ivan was getting very little of what he wanted, and given that he was pretty sure that what he wanted was what the colony _needed,_ he was not in a very good mood to go to Venice and meet with the man the government had appointed Governor of the new colony.

Leone Aita was somewhere in his thirties, bright-eyed, and- so Ivan thought- much too happy. Ivan knew from the sheet Arik had given him before he came that Leone had a wife Gianpaola who was about his age, a doctor, and had publically professed her desire to take some time to have a family now.

There were so many disasters waiting to happen- native plants and animals that could prove poisonous or sickening, an epidemic born from opportunistic foreign bacteria, historically-precedented child mortality rates, starvation, colony self-destruction, actual alien invasion- and he hadn’t even _seen_ the ship yet.

“I think that taking human doctors will be a bad idea,” he told Leone. “We should bring human psychologists, but everyone else should be Honalenier.”

The man had clearly not expected to open the meeting like this.

“We need doctors-” he started to say.

“And we are going to _have_ doctors,” Ivan cut him off. “ _Honalenier_ doctors. Just because they were not trained at some established medical school doesn’t mean they do not know what they are doing. The apprenticeship system works just as well, and they do not _stay_ doctors if they cannot do what they claim to.”

“If they’re just as good,” Leone said. “We should have a balance of both.”

“If I went to your wife right now,” Ivan told him. “And asked her what good she would do if she was dropped in the middle of the tundra and told to provide care for someone with influenza, the answer would be very little. They would probably get pneumonia. They might die. If it was tuberculosis, cholera, tetanus- dead. What _your_ wife is trained for- what _all_ human doctors are trained for- is medical practice in an industrialized and computerized environment with easy and consistent access to diagnostic equipment, pharmaceuticals, operating rooms, disinfectants, and the ability to pass difficult patients off to specialists. Theiostea will have none of these. Honalenier doctors do not require these things to operate- they are very happy to have access to them, now, and in some cases they had their own versions, but _they_ could be dropped in that same tundra and know how to do more than basic first aid. _In fact-_ ”

If Leone was going to respond to all of his proposals with that same stunned look, Ivan was not optimistic about their chances of getting very far.

“-a good number of those Honalenier doctors use magic as a part of their work, either their native talent or rituals fueled by a touch of blood magic, which can be used regardless of access to any other supplies. With only a supply of fresh water, a heat source, and some blankets a Honalenier doctor could keep someone with a cold or a case of influenza supported well enough for their bodies to fight it off on their own. They will _never_ lose such a patient, if that is all they suffer from. I am told that many of the traveling doctors of the Steppes now operate with nothing but a toolbox filled with aspirin and over-the-counter antibacterials, one of those wall-mounted workplace first aid kits, natural surroundings they are familiar with, and their own magic.”

He handed Leone the figures he’d had drawn up by the post officers at the Ordon Khot station.

“They only come back to restock once they have used _everything_ from the toolbox and the kit. A doctor will come back every year to a year and a half, their time, spend $300-$400 dollars, American, and go back out. They are curing influenza, meningitis, cholera, tuberculosis, pertussis, tetanus, measles, malaria, plague, yellow fever, typhoid, smallpox-”

“Smallpox has been eradicated,” Leone said with some alarm.

“Not in Honalee it hasn’t,” Ivan told him, with a certain brutal satisfaction. The man was starting to appreciate the seriousness of this, now. “The stories of humans taken by fairies are not baseless. There has been human traffic and traffic _in_ humans in Honalee for as long as there have _been_ humans. There are diseases in Honalee that we don’t even have _names_ for because they were recorded nowhere in history, or because they were something we could have recognized once but have since crossed the species barrier and mutated to infect human and Honalenier, or because they are unique to Honalee and there is not a human on Earth who has any resistance to them whatsoever. And yet-”

He spread his arms, to make the point.

“-there have been no pandemics. No medical states of emergency. There has been no modern-day wrath of God plague that has descended on us from Honalee, or from us into Honalee- _because Honalenier doctors are experts in their field._ They are _every bit_ as competent as human doctors; and in cases of mixed Honalenier-human populations, _more_ competent. All outbreaks have been small enough to barely warrant more than local new notices in Martigny to be more vigilant than usual about your health, at the same level as any slightly more severe flu season. The diseases are stopped in Martigny and the Jägerskov before they can go any further- though, as it stands now, Honalee is better protected against Earth diseases than Earth is against any Honalenier ones. The doctors who have been doing that vaccination work are _Honalenier,_ not human. _Those_ are the doctors we will need on Theiostea.”

“Okay,” Leone said very quietly, after a moment. “We- we won’t recruit any more human doctors. We’ll let you handle that. But is it- if it’s really that bad-”

    “Why have you not heard of it?” Ivan asked for him. “Because to the human medical establishment, Honalenier doctors are dabblers, witch doctors, and hedge healers. They think they wander around with jars of leeches acting like barber-surgeons and spouting faith healing nonsense; and can’t be trusted to know about _real_ medicine. So they have been ignored. Soon enough, though, they will _have_ to listen. In six years, Martinach-Liechtenstein will be certifying Honalenier doctors with human medical licenses to practice, and you _will_ be hearing about it.”

He had convinced the Governor on the wisdom of Honalenier doctors- maybe-

“Now, we must talk about your standards for what qualifies a farmer,” he said. He might as well press this cowed state as far as possible. “They are _disgraceful,_ and if I must I will find the person responsible for drafting them and wring their neck. I am almost a thousand years old and I _know_ that these cannot stand unless we wish for everything to fail spectacularly.”

* * *

The table of the meeting room in Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein’s administration building was strewn with applications. It was May, the charter from Nia had gone through, all of the staff were now hired and the majority had enough recognition in their fields to form the basis of the academic standing of the university until the accreditation process could be finished- and so it was time for the application review committee was meeting.

This wouldn’t be the full or final review committee, but for the first class, all of ten of them were needed. The applications that had been submitted electronically were printed out, and a couple of volunteers were checking them by hand, one at a time, and delivering them in stacks to the appropriate committee member. This went a little differently for each.

The Dean of the School of Business, Cyril Gosse, was basically just signing off on everything he was given. Most of the applications were from Honalenier merchants, or merchants’ children, exactly the sort of people his school was meant to be teaching. Odette was doing likewise for the applicants to the School of Languages, though that was regardless of human or Honalenier status. Some of the applications would likely be dropped in the second round of vetting- almost exclusively the humans who wanted to study an Earth language, or Honalenier looking to learn a Honalenier language other than Trade Creole.

Dean Alessa Mosconi was one of the crop of people recruited from the University of Padua, and she headed the School of Law. She had to be more discriminating about her choices for the actual, graduate law degree that would provide all the instruction needed to pass the exams to become a practicing law professional in France or the VRG, but the applications for the undergraduate degree in Law Studies and Theory could be more generously apportioned. Likewise, the Dean of the School of Arts, a retired performer from the Kacheivan Opera, was looking for applicants with art backgrounds, at least for the first class.

The School of Sciences had co-deans, one a member of the Fellowship of Ztoca Mechaneers, another a human with a doctorate in computer science. They were carefully looking for good grades on the human side of things, and documented practical experience or prior instruction and good references on the Honalenier side.

The Magical Philosophy, Theory, and Practical Application department- Lana and the other sorcerers had insisted on the full name as the only one that accurately reflected what they were teaching, but everyone was just calling it Magical Theory- came under the School of Sciences, but everyone had agreed that Lana, as the only one with long-term magical teaching experience in the style that the university was going to do, was the only one who could realistically look over the applications for that. There seemed to be very few, but for starting out in particular and magic in general, few was better.

The School of Medicine and the School of Humanities were the most difficult, because they had the most pressing jobs out of any in the university. Honalenier could get by fine, as they always had, without official recognition of their scientific or business skills; and law and the arts were included because Martigny was a logical place for them, with the Opera and the Hunt; but Honalenier doctors with Earth licenses and humans with cross-cultural knowledge were sorely needed.

Dr. Ophélie Leclerc was the Dean of the School of Medicine, and Vinzfern sitting in with her to provide perspective and validation, where she could. There was a steady, quiet stream of descriptions of foreign illnesses, site-specific difficulties, and reputations and hear-say from their portion of the table.

Zell wasn’t dead of the School of Humanities- it didn’t have one yet, because the only departments in it were Honalenier Studies and Modern and International Politics, and she was unofficially in charge of both of them. Master Chetanpa might have been Department Chair of Honalenier Studies, but it was Zell who knew about academic qualifications.

The Honalenier Studies department was designed for two types of people- human diplomats, and human civil servants. In the planned curricula there were a few comparative subjects classes that Honalenier students in the other departments and schools would be advised to take so they could have a basic understanding of the world they were going into, but otherwise, Zell was looking for human applicants.

She had been handed some applications that were from Honalenier, and each of these she placed off in their own pile for filing. They could be looked at later, two or three years down the line, when the program had graduated its first class and things had been refined some.

The French, North Italian, and VRG applicants without any prior university or professional experience were also given their own pile. Most of those would be ultimately rejected, but a few might be pulled depending on the numbers. At some point, this would be a department for academic study, too- that was why she had made sure to hire some researchers to double as professors, after all- but that time was not now.

Some applications Zell immediately signed off on, like Dean Gosse was doing for the School of Business. These were the young people from Martinach-Liechtenstein, Rome, and Venice who were looking for government jobs after graduation; and established diplomats who were going to specialize.

Most of the diplomats Zell knew personally, or had on recommendation from people she _did_ know. Part of her deal with the UN to get out of the Martigny office was that appropriate UN employees would be enrolled in the classes that fit their mission description, and so there were familiar names from the Martigny office in the pile, and some people David Mayfield had sent from the Department of Nations’ Affairs as his last act before retirement.

Zell was looking forward to having them- she had a very _special_ class she was teaching in the spring semester.

Beyond that, there were names that came with a list of positions in the diplomatic services of the VRG, France, Venice, North Italy- there were a few from Martinach-Liechtenstein’s service, too, looking to gain the ability to switch between Earth and Honalee assignments.

There were only three unexpected applications that came to her.

The first was a David Suero Ramos, who’s application must have been mailed in, because it came with a very official attached note informing her that the government of the Republic of Cuba was going to be paying his tuition, and that they should be contacted specially to sort out the financials.

Zell hadn’t heard that Cuba was looking to start diplomacy with Martinach-Liechtenstein or Honalee, and made a note to herself to tell Nia.

The second came a little later, and was much the same case- except Makayla Ramsay was an American foreign service officer. That was two countries to notify Nia about, then, and America might need special handling. They’d ignored the Wild Hunt’s territory in Martigny, and then they’d ignored the Principality of Martinach, but now after three years of ignoring Martinach-Liechtenstein, they seemed to have given in.

It had probably been the announcement of Venice’s mission to Theiostea that had done it. Sure enough, when she checked the date on the application, it had come exactly a week after the announcement, only three days before the application cut-off date.

The third strange application worried her some, enough that she got up and left the room to make a call.

“ _Zio_ Cris,” she said when he picked up. “Who exactly is Emilio Idoni?”

“A very nice priest who I think shows some particular promise,” her uncle told her. “He was well recommended.”

“His application is fine,” Zell said. “I just- look, _Zio,_ he’s a Catholic priest and- well. Honalee.”  

“Gisela Maria, are you trying to ask me if his faith has made him close-minded and incapable of being flexible?”

“I was trying not to say it like that, _Zio,_ ” she told him. “But yes. I think it’s a valid concern.”

“He is a _Jesuit,_ Gisela,” he said, rather sternly. “I asked the Superior General for a recommendation, because the Wild Hunt, Martigny, and Honalee have been a special assignment for me for fifty years now, and I believe they are due for a change. I interviewed all of the Superior General’s suggestions myself, and I believe that Emilio Idoni was the best one to send to your program. I intend on giving him the posting for the Hunt and Martinach when his degree is completed. In the meantime, while he attends your university, he will assist Father Favre at Michelmarc. If you hear of any problems in his conduct, you can inform _me,_ and _I_ will investigate.”

“If you think he’d be good for it, _Zio_ , that’s fine. I wasn’t going to try to talk you out of it,” Zell said. “But- an Apostolic Nunciature requires a bishop. You’d make him-?”

“Whoever said that I was going to make a Nunciature?” her uncle asked. “He thinks that I will tell him to take Michelmarc, and that Father Favre will be made bishop.”

“Well I’ll let you surprised him th-” Zell started to tell him, but then what he’d actually _said_ caught up to her. “Wait, _what?_ ”

“I cannot expect the Bishop of Sion to continue on as he has been, worrying over both the portion of Valais that your sister did not take, all of Martinach, _and_ , by default, left with Honalee,” the Vatican said. “Liechtenstein is its own Archdiocese, after all, as it is a separate state. And Nia and the other Catholic Jäger have certainly put enough effort into Sankt Michelmarc that it would seem a waste not to name it a cathedral.”

He hung up on her then, having gotten the last word in; and Zell went back into the meeting room to move Emilio Idoni’s application into the acceptance pile.   

* * *

Terenzia was going to be _sick_ of meetings before summer ended, she was certain. By the time next April came around and it was time to leave Earth, she might actually be ready to spend six months on a ship, so long as it meant she didn’t have to sit around a _talk_ all the time. She wasn’t even technically _having_ a meeting today- and yet she’d run into Adalram and Magda and they were talking about Theiostea anyway.

It was important, but there was a good reason she’d gone for the regular Jäger Regiments instead of signing on with her father’s Zauber, or with the Departments. It meant she did some administration, because was a Kommandant and that meant she was in charge of a Regiment, but it also meant she had a good balance between the paperwork needed to keep the Departments up to date on what she was doing and what she needed and actually going out and doing things like patrol duty, or inspection, or just taking Etele out to ride because he needed the exercise and one of her duties was to keep him in shape and herself accustomed to the kit she had as being part of the Reiter- the heavy cavalry.

They were knights, really, and they even had jousts. They were in the Steppean and Buyanov styles, and not much like European jousting at all- but you were still charging at someone else with a lance or a polearm and doing your best to knock them down.

It was fun.

“We should have a festival when we get to Theiostea,” she told Adalram and Magda. “We’re going to be six months on that ship and everyone is going to be happy to get off it. We should celebrate.”

“We’ll have to plant and harvest first to get that kind of food,” Adalram said. “Perhaps not _right_ away.”

“Maybe a small celebration for when we get there and then another one at the end of the first growing season,” Magda suggested.

“If you _really_ want a party,” Adalram added. “You should marry Horsecharmer when we get to Theiostea, not before we leave.”

“Our families wouldn’t allow it,” Terenzia said. “We’d only have _Mamma_ with us on Theiostea.”

“Well _your_ family is Italian, and theirs is Hungarian,” Magda pointed out. “You could do the Catholic marriage here, and then do some folk traditions there. Anyway, it would be good luck, wouldn’t it?”

“Would it be?” Adalram asked.

She shrugged.

“It might be,” she said. “I don’t know, weddings always seemed like occasions for good luck to me. That and newborn babies. I’m sure _some_ culture somewhere thinks weddings are good luck- and we’d need that for this settlement, the way Marschall Braginski talks about it.”

“ _Nonno_ says that Marschall Braginski is pessimistic about everything because it means he won’t be disappointed when the worst happens,” Terenzia told her. “And that there’s a _lot_ of _‘worst’_ in Russia. And _Papá_ says that _Nonno_ is right, because _Nonno_ gets mad and nasty for the same reasons. The Jagdsprinz sometimes, too. It might be a survival tactic.”

“Pessimism is fine,” Magda said. “But pointing out all the ways we could possibly die or self-destruct every time we have a meeting to talk about the newest batch of problems is a bit much.”

“If other people think that marriages are a time for good luck,” Adalram said. “Couldn’t we get one of the Zauber to capitalize on that? I’ve learned that marriage is very important to humans- couldn’t Horsecharmer do something with that expectation, and make us some spells for the well-being of the colony?”

Terenzia thought about it. Marriages _were_ laden with a lot of symbolism, and that _was_ what affinities operated off of.

 “It’s not a bad idea,” she told him. “I’ll ask Árpád. I’m sure there are some Hungarian folk traditions they could use, and _Nonno_ could tell me all about the ones from his people. And it would definitely be a reason to have a party.”

* * *

Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein accepted 557 in its first class, and 53 of them were in the Honalenier Studies department. In the interests of quantifiable data and being absolutely certain that each of those 53 students was getting exactly what they needed out of their studies, someone somewhere along the line had come up with the idea to split the department’s share of the students into two groups of ten and three groups of eleven, and assign about four professors from the department to each group.

János had been grouped with other professors all from Honalee- Cherendai Eshnaraj Temurev, Iskra Nyninadova, and Domaran Filigandskind- to supervise one of the groups of eleven, and he was surprised at how well he was getting along with them all.

Iskra hadn’t been any problem at all. She had signed on to the department to teach about Honalenier business traditions and economics, and taken on a section of Trade Creole as well. She and he had immediately been able to talk about business- Iskra from the perspective of a professional scholar and Buyanov merchants’ daughter, János from his dealings with Honalenier businesses and employment law on behalf of HabéTech- and things had just gone from there.

Domaran Filigandskind was also teaching a section of Trade Creole, and one of Rinnrdrusk; and his academic specialty was unsurprisingly the Domdruc and the Domdruharc. They didn’t have anything obviously in common, at first, like he and Iskra had; and there was an initial distance because _János_ was the Jagdsprinz’s cousin and _she_ was Domaran’s King; but when they had their preliminary meeting and he and Iskra had immediately gone into discussion about local economic trends, it had softened things enough for them to start talking, and it had warmed up from there. They’d gone and had lunch afterwards, and ended up talking about skiing and how János hadn’t really done it in _years_ but Domaran had tried it out at some of the local slopes and he couldn’t do it to save his life, but it was still fun.

If the friendship developed more, János might have to ask him along. It could be fun, to try again, even if he couldn’t do competitions and his balance was all off and his prosthetic arm wasn’t really good enough to handle it- but there had been technological improvements and maybe now it was just a matter of practice?

And even if he wasn’t going to ever be good at it again, Domaran wasn’t any good at it at _all,_ and failure was easier to take when no one else was succeeding either.

Maybe they could laugh about it.

Cherendai Eshnaraj Temurev- well, he just wasn’t sure. He’d heard about her during his travels in Honalee to learn magic, of course- there were only so many sorcerers in the world, after all, and she was quite famous- but the Steppes had been someplace to travel _through_ on his way from Kūnlún to Lanka Kubera, not a stop. Now, he was kind of regretting not taking the time to track her down.

She had a section of Kuberan, though other Honalenier scholars were covering most of them; and of course she was a sorcerer, so they had a lot in common there.

But her _true_ specialty wasn’t magic.

They had a second faculty meeting some days after the group meetings, now that the Honalenier Studies department had sorted itself out; and a lot of people came into it unhappy about the fact that the university officially operated in French and German, but mostly French. Zell managed to talk everyone around to accepting the fact that there weren’t enough human academics who knew Trade Creole or Kuberan to feasible teach in that, and that the majority of the Honalenier they were trying to train knew French as their human language better than they knew German, because their contact had been with Martigny and the Principality of Martinach might have had a German name and a large and still-growing minority of German speakers, but the actual _territory_ it was in was the Swiss canton of Valais, which was French. In two years, five years, they could teach equally in French and German; in seven years, ten years, thirteen years, _then_ the human academics who were employed by the university would have learned Trade Creole and Kuberan well enough to teach in one, and the first crop of university-trained Honalenier academics would have grown enough in numbers to make up for any deficiencies of the human faculty.

The next argument had started up immediately, about whether the classes taught about Nations and the Kings of Honalee and how they tied into magic should be described as _‘Honalenier theology’_.

“It’s theology,” was the strongest argument Pherekleo Bondesan had been able to come up with. In all fairness, it was a pretty good one. “I’ve _seen_ the things that came out of the Royal Orthographic Institute on how to treat name-glyphs when you’re rendering Trade Creole or Rinnrdrusk or any other Honalenier language into some human one. The words they use are _‘blasphemy’_ and _‘sacrilege’_. You don’t write out a King’s name phonetically- just like how you don’t say God’s name in Judaism, or how the Greeks and Romans and Norse had epithets for _their_ gods. The Kings control fundamental parts of the natural world; and in the Jagdsprinz’s case, _our morality and laws._ That’s _religion._ ”

 “It is _not_ a religion!” Phemidoxia Sostychev shot back. “We do not _have_ religion in Honalee, and we never have! We don’t _need_ it! The Kings are no more gods than the oreads or the lightning spirits- _authority_ and _control_ does not equal _divinity!_ You and I are both Thálassian- _water,_ Pherekleo av Aphosa! Are _we_ gods? No! Do we worship our _Razanás_? No! We _honor_ her, we _respect_ her, we are in _awe_ of her- but we do not _worship_ her! We’ve _never_ worshiped our Kings, and we never will!”

“I should hope not,” Zell said dryly. “My sister would have some very strong opinions about anyone trying to worship her. I’m sure you can imagine.”

Some of the Honalenier had seemed rather startled- János thought that maybe they’d forgotten they had relatives of Kings in the room.

“And _I_ would have some strong opinions, too,” she continued. “Nia’s no god- pagan or heathen or otherwise. She’s much too human.”

“Infallibility is a mark of divinity only in monotheism, Princess _Venexia_ ,” Pherekleo said.

 _“Perhaps,”_ Phemidoxia said, rather frostily. “The other _Seelenkind_ would like to add their words to this matter?”

“Well,” Mosé replied slowly. “I can’t divorce this from my own faith, but I’ll say this- the demon Mephistopheles overcame our Kings, and killed the Erlkönig. Could you really claim that your gods are weaker than a demon?”

“Do gods worship other gods?” Isolde asked. “Because I know an awful lot of religious Nations. Most of them aren’t as visible about it as the Vatican or Israel or Iran and her neighbors, but most of them keep to _something,_ still.”

“It would mean admitting humans are better,” Odette pointed out, failing to suppress all of her rather smug smile. “Teufelmördor was only human when Ereshkigal picked her to become Jagdsprinz. My grandfather was _already_ a King when she made the Hunt for him, and _he’s_ the one who couldn’t hold it together.”

If there were any Honalenier on the faculty who held some of their peoples’ less favorable views of humans- and János didn’t think that anyone with obvious or severe prejudice would have bothered accepting a job here- they didn’t say anything.

But it shut them all up, and János wasn’t really sure he liked that. You didn’t have to hate someone to think that you were better than them, after all.

“Cassiel Navin bound a demon and fed my father to it to keep it quiet,” he said, hoping to provide the last nail for this conversation’s coffin. He wouldn’t be surprised if Pherekleo and Phemidoxia spent a significant portion of their academic careers passive-aggressively writing papers about why _they_ were right and the other of them was _wrong;_ but that wasn’t his business, and he wasn’t going to worry about it. “Are the Kings less than a witch and necromancer and demon-summoner, even a _Seelenkind_ with two Nations for parents?”

“No,” Cherendai said, placing her hands down firmly on the table, fingers spread. Her rings clicked against the hard surface. “The Kings are what they are. It is pointless to try to rank them above or below human gods- they do not exist in the same system. Gods are for humans; and Kings for Honalenier.”

“Nations-” Pherekleo started to say.

“Are no more gods than Kings,” the sorcerer continued calmly. “They are Kings in every way that matters to us- but Kings do not go to Ereshkigal’s care when they die, and neither are they ruled by the Jagdsprinz in quite the same way. Kings do not have the bond with their people the way Nations do- to Kings, they are _‘subjects’_. To Nations-”

She looked to Isolde.

“Do correct me if I have this wrong, _Razanás_ Martinach,” she said. “But to Nations, their people are their _‘children’_.”

“That’s more of a thing for older Nations,” Isolde said. “I feel weird trying to call people my children. A lot of them are older than me.”

“That is no insignificant distinction to make,” Cherendai continued. “And we could debate it for weeks. But what matters here is that _‘Kings’_ or _‘gods’_ is a fallacious argument, and it does us no good to further it. The problem, I believe, is in our language. I have heard it in my mother’s language, and my father’s, and I have heard it here. _Razanás_ Martinach-”

“Yes?”

“I have read your writing, and you are familiar with Rinnrdrusk as used by the Domdruc, and as the new standards have set it?”

“I am,” she confirmed. “I’m on the board of the Royal Institute, still.”

“Then perhaps you would like to explain the difference between the Rinnrdrusk words _‘dis’, ‘disganheid’,_ and _‘disrägner’_?”

Isolde looked at for a moment before understanding welled up in her expression.

“Oh,” she said. “ _That’s_ what you meant. Yeah, I can do that.”

János wondered if it was worth taking notes, since Rinnrdrusk was one of the languages he should really learn to work here, or to associate with Honalee and the Hunt, and figured he’d probably remember this. The argument around it was heated enough that it would stick in his mind.

“ _‘Dis’_ is _‘magic’_ ,” Isolde told them. “But it’s translated as _‘divinity’_ , too, because there’s nothing else that comes close and Rinnrdrusk did something strange and didn’t borrow _divinité_ out of French, like it did for words like _électricité_ and _téléphone_. We asked an awful lot of people to translate things for us at the Institute when we were putting together our dictionary, and whenever anyone had to translate _‘divinity’_ , they ended up using _‘dis’_. _‘Disganhaid’_ is the derived adjectival form of _‘dis’_ , but it doesn’t mean _‘magical’_ \- it’s more spiritual than that. We got _‘sacred’_ or _‘holy’_ when we asked people to explain in French or German or Italian what it meant. _‘Disrägner’_ is just _‘sorcerer’_.”

“I have talked with many people in many languages, all over Honalee,” Cherendai told them. “And in each language, this same pattern holds true. It must not be called _‘Honalenier theology’_ because we have no gods in Honalee, this is true- but that does not mean we have no concept of the divine. It is simply caught up in our ideas of magic and of the soul; and therefore inextricably with Ereshkigal and the Jagdsprinz and our other Kings. This I know well true- I was-”

She paused.

“I do not- I don’t know how you would say it in any other language. I was _Sündeyalacgh-_ ”

“A shaman,” János provided. “That’s the word Nico and Lana and I and the others were using.”

Cherendai inclined her head in his direction in thanks, and continued.

“I was a shaman before I was a sorcerer,” she said. “And so I speak with that authority.”

In the end, they changed it to _‘Honalenier mysticism’_ ; and János resolved to find some time to speak to Cherendai, later.

* * *

When there was a knock on Emma’s door at eight in the evening, she thought it was Nazario come back from the university; but then she remembered that he was sitting out at the kitchen table that he’d strewn with papers, because his first classes were in two weeks and he _still_ hadn’t moved out.

“It’s your eviction notice!” she called to him as she went to answer the door. A string of frustrated grumbling noises from the kitchen was her only answer.

Emma lived in Barrackstown, since she was part of the Hunt, and the only reason she could think of for anyone to be knocking on her door this late was if there was some kind of minor emergency. She was expecting to see a higher-ranking officer when she opened the door, so it took her a moment to recover when Elisea and Santo, the twins of the family, shoved right past her into the room.

Santo slung the two duffle bags they’d brought onto the couch, where they landed with a loud creak of the springs.

Smiling widely, Elisea brandished the papers she was holding in her older sister’s face.

“We’re going to space!” she announced.

“You’re _what?_ ” Nazario yelled from the kitchen.

“Space!” Santo crowed. “On the Venetian ship! They needed farmers, we know about farming; they wanted Italians, we’re Italian!”

“We only got the paperwork a few days ago,” Elisea said. “And since we’re going to be busy consolidating our farm here and finding someone responsible to pass it off too-”

“-we came up here to say _‘goodbye’_ ,” Santo finished for her, and flung himself down on the unoccupied part of the couch. “Since we’ll be too busy once we start that to have any time to ourselves before it’s time to go.”

Nazario had come out of the kitchen.

“Be _nice,_ ” he insisted, eyeing his younger brother’s position on the couch. “That’s where I _sleep_.”

“You booked a hotel, right?” Emma asked. “Because since _this one-_ ”

She jerked a thumb at Nazario.

“-won’t move out because he’s suffering for his scholarship-”

“It’s a new university,” Nazario interjected. “It’s _experimental._ It’s _difficult._ ”

“-there’s no more room here. I’m not even sure I’m allowed to be putting him up.”

“We can sleep on the floor,” Elisea told her. “It’ll be nice.”

“We’ll have worse conditions after we leave,” Santo said cheerfully. “To go to _space._ ”

“Oh,” Emma muttered. “Kommandant Agresta will just _love_ you.”

“If anyone needs me,” Nazario said. “I’m going to be lamenting my impending doom.”

“I have _seen_ what you’re doing in my kitchen,” Emma told him. “And it’s not _that_ terrible. You should see the paperwork Marschall Braginski and Leutnant Héderváry have to deal with.”

“It’s not the university,” her brother said, disappearing back into the kitchen. “It’s the fact that _I’m_ going to be here and _you_ three are going to be in space and _Papá_ and _Mamma_ are going to be stuck in Rome with only Piero and Fiametta since everyone else is an adult now and _Nonna_ is going to worry and hover and show up and summon the four of them to dinner with _Avus_ and cry about how she never should have let any of us leave Rome because we’re all so far away and she can’t keep an eye on us and what if we get into trouble, she couldn’t keep an eye on her brother and look what happened to _him_.”

“Oh come _on,_ Nazario!” Elisea told him.

“ _Nonna_ is going to buy a train ticket and come up here and guilt me into leaving the university to bore myself to death in the Vatican Archives-”

He pitched his voice up higher.

“ _‘Nazarino don’t you love your Nonna’_ ,” he mimicked.“ _‘I came all the way up here to see you and you know how much I hate traveling you should come back with me all your siblings have left me’_. I’ll never escape and it’s going to be _your_ fault because _you’re_ going to _space._ ”

“This is _my_ apartment,” Emma reminded them all. “I can kick you all out if I want _._ ”

“Wait,” Santo said, finally catching on. “All _three_ of us? You’re going to space, too? Cool!”

* * *

The first day of classes at Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein was 9 October 2103, and Nazario got into his classroom half an hour early out of nervousness. The first thing he had to teach today was Cross-Cultural Contacts of Earth and Honalee. The first part of the semester was going to be an overview of pre-Teufelmördor contacts of humans and Honalenier, which meant a month and a half of talking about the human slave trade in Honalee and the escaped slave cultures that had developed on the Steppes and in Kubera. For the second month and a half he basically just talked about his Doctoral thesis and research about the cultural changes of those places where Earth and Honalee were closely connected, and he was going to get additional information on Venice and Martigny from people who knew about _that_ so he wasn’t just talking about Rome the entire time.

Then came the final papers, and- no, he wasn’t ready to think about that. Final papers this first semester were going to nerve-wracking for everyone, because that was where they learned if they’d managed to impart the really important information.

This first semester was likely to be a minor disaster anyway. There was a tentative plan for the order the students should take their courses in, but since this was the first class they were throwing just about everything at them and seeing what stuck. Oh, they _all_ had to take Political, Cultural, and Mystical Philosophy of Honalee, and Introduction to Magical Theory and Philosophy, and Introduction to Trade Creole- but that fourth slot of the degree’s semester plan was freed up for this first class, so they could see what worked. There were six other classes being offered, which meant that equal distribution between courses would mean eight people per class.

Nazario had five, and had taken a quick look at their files the day before. There were three new graduates out of Martinach’s secondary education system, who were coming to university for the first time, a diplomat from Cuba, and- terrifyingly- a Jesuit priest.

They all showed up on time, including the priest, who’d come in black shoes, pants, and shirt with a tab collar to show his vocation.

 _‘Priest’_ to Nazario had always meant his grandfather, and the thought of messing up in front of a priest-

Oh God.

He did his very best to calm down- _Avus_ was kind even when he was being stern, he _knew_ that; and there was no reason why some strange Jesuit should leave him more shaken than talking to the _actual_ Catholic Church- and started to opened the class.

“Some of you have never been in a university class before,” he said, not quite reciting from memory but doing his best to match the wording of the standard speech everyone who was teaching one of the fourth slot classes was supposed to give to introduce the department. “For those of you who _have_ been through a university class before, this won’t be much like that.”

He glanced at the diplomat and the Jesuit.

“Honalenier Studies is unique to Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein, and it is a very, very, _very_ small field. You will be hearing the same names over and over in this course, and most of them will be the names of your professors. This is because the faculty of this department represent almost everyone in the field. By and large, we will be teaching our own research and our own theory. We just wanted to make sure you understood that before you walked out of a class thinking that we’re all incredibly self-absorbed.”

The actual wording of that last bit had been more formal in the standard speech, but Nazario couldn’t remember it at the moment and some levity might be good. The quick smiles of the first-time students made him feel a little better.

“The point is of this department is to teach people so that they can go on to be diplomats and civil servants,” he continued. “And for now that’s all we’re allowed to care about. Some of you may develop academic ambitions, and if you do, _please_ tell us. We need you as researchers and theorists just as badly as we need you out in the government. In the meantime, we hope that you’ll be patient with any rough patches we have. We’re just as new as you to this, and sometimes that’s going to present difficulties.”

There- that hadn’t been so hard, and he was feeling steadier already. He’d taught some classes before. They’d never been this small, and they’d never been this important, but this wasn’t _so_ different.

“Questions? No? Then it’s time to truly begin.”

* * *

2103 had turned to 2104 perhaps thirty, forty minutes before, and Ivan had left the party to go outside and look at the stars.

He had no idea where Theiostea’s star was, or if it was visible from Earth, but he liked to think that it was. It didn’t seem so far away, then.

It was, of course, fanciful- so he tried to discard the thought. But it was persistent, and while he tried, Nia slipped silently into the space next to him.

“Ivan?”

“People are going to die,” he told her. “It will be a great work of state. People die easily, with ambition like that.”

“It’s not like digging canals in Russia.”

“No, it is not,” Ivan agreed. “It is herding people into a metal shell crammed with technology given to us by an alien race who has already tried to destroy us once and has set us up to take their fall for them, to spend six years in total vacuum and cold so intense the word barely applies, to land on a planet on the other side of the galaxy to set up a trade outpost with that same alien race, just to prove to ourselves that we _can._ ”

“And it’s been set up so that it will be hard for them to _completely_ destroy themselves,” Nia argued. “I know you know- you wrote most of the policy to prevent that.”

“There will be war,” Ivan told her. “If not with the Ramman, and not with the Pict, then with each other. Wars in space- battle ships like we have imagined, only a crippled ship will not explode. They will float, in space, while the people inside it die slowly as the life support fails, or instantly when a hull is breached. Our space technology is all from the Pict, and _they_ had no need for force fields, if such things are even possible. There were no other spacefaring civilizations like them, except the Ramman- and they were a trading empire, as far as we know unchallenged, controlling all of the ships and all of the goods. Just because we have not put weapons on our ships yet does not mean that we _will_ not. We have imagined doing so for so long that unless it proves to be utterly impossible, by science and magic and technomancy, it _will_ happen eventually.”

“People are barred from war,” Nia said. She didn’t sound or feel very certain, but Ivan knew that it had to be said.

“That did not stop the Italians,” he said, just to give voice to what they were both thinking. “And it was not going to stop my government. If it is not ship-to-ship fighting, then it will be transporting terrestrial armies from planet to planet. The Hunt will need its own fleet to prevent that, bigger and more powerful than the others.”

“I won’t spark an arms race.”

“The thing about arms races,” Ivan told her. “Is that they happen whether you care for one or not. Preparing for one will start it; waiting for one to start and joining in means that you are perpetually behind; not joining in means that someday you will be destroyed by it.”

“It doesn’t _have_ to mean that,” Nia insisted.

It was very unfortunate that he had an overwhelming weakness to stubborn idealism.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But it does now. Our best hope- _my_ hope- is that the colony on Theiostea does not work. I hope that we arrive, establish ourselves, and are so unprofitable that no one ever considers trying again. If there is no incentive to leave, then no one will need care about finding new ways to kill each other, and the reasons they find to kill each other will all be found _here,_ where they are manageable.”

Ivan swept a hand across the sky.

“That?” he said. “ _That_ is unmanageable. But if there is even the _barest_ possibility of hope that it could be otherwise, someone will take it. And I fear that day, as I have not feared much else in my life.”

* * *

Zell had been waiting for this moment for a long time. It might even be fair to say that her entire professional career had been to place in her a position that- while not _precisely_ this- held all the same functions as the one she was currently occupying.

The fall semester had ended a couple of weeks ago and none of their students had failed out. The classes all seemed to have imparted the information that they really needed to, and hopefully this semester would go just as well.

But for now-

She had eleven students in this course, class was set to begin in ten minutes, and on the desk in front of her was a lovely, _lovely_ professionally printed, five-volume copy of _Die Seelenvolksrecht-_ “The Law of Nations.”

Her life’s work.

Her own copy was in German, the original language she’d written it in, and she’d given Nia a copy in the same. It sat on her office bookshelf, ready for use. Mosé had a German copy, and the Italian translation she’d done. The Office of Nations’ Affairs in New York City had it in German, Italian, the English translation she’d done, and the French translation that Rémy had done some years ago, before his memory had failed and taken his body with it. The UN mission in Martigny had the French copy, her students had bought the French copy, and the university library had all four sets, for reference and comparison.

Volume One- history of Nations and the historical precedents on the law and treatment thereof, from the earliest human documentation until the discovery of the New World. Volume Two- the same, starting from the discovery of the New World and concluding with a case study of Cuba, the VRG, and a full discussion and dissection of Hanna Schumacher’s case. Volume Three- again the same, from Mephistopheles to as present day as she could make it in the first half; the second half devoted to the legal and social status of Nations in the Honalenier tradition. Volume Four- a record of every recorded and remembered law and tradition regarding Nations from every time period and every part of the world that she had been able to find information for. Volume Five- the index, and primary sourcebook.

Her students filtered in, sat down, and somewhat uncertainly took out Volume One. Clearly, most of them hadn’t really known what to make of having to purchase the full five-volume set, likely because of the depth of the scholarship it represented and the content it dealt with. The three UN employees from Nations’ Affairs and the woman from the Martigny office at least had an idea of what might be going on, but the rest-

Zell smiled, deeply and sharply satisfied in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d gotten Nations’ Affairs approved and appointed Director of the new department. Maybe eleven students wasn’t much to start with. Maybe no one much cared about _Die Seelenvolksrecht_ , outside of the few very specialized places that really _needed_ to know about Nations.

But someday, she was utterly certain, people would care; and then, _then,_ the world would never look the same again.

* * *

A quick read-through of the summary introduction of the truly _massive_ briefing manuscript she’d been given- it was cheaply screw-and-post bound and must have been a full two centimeters thick- left Terenzia with only one question:

“ _Why_ are we going to space again?”

She knew the answer already- she couldn’t have been working on this project for almost a year _without_ knowing the answer- but seeing it all laid out in print like this made asking again seem necessary.

“Because two centuries of human dreaming has been to colonize the stars,” Marschall Braginski told her- in German, so the Venetians wouldn’t understand. “And Venice has succumbed to delusions of reclaiming nationalistic glory strong enough to finance our short-sighted, self-interested arrogance. Space colonization is utter lunacy. It is time-consuming, resource-draining; and ultimately, I believe it will prove to be unprofitable, unsustainable, unstable, and _unsafe._ ”

“Says the man who was integral to drafting the settlement program and protocols,” Árpád murmured to her.

Marschall Braginski made a drawn-out, pleased _hmmmm_ ing noise before continuing.

“But the satisfaction of _having gone_ will render all moot, because in this the human spirit will always override the human mind.”

That was particularly poetic, Terenzia thought, and hoped that someone had recorded it for the history books. They were a week out from leaving, and this was the final meeting before they started for Theiostea. It was prime historical documentation time.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hauptmann Miccichelo finish writing a sentence. Good- her brother was teaching at the university, someone had told her, and all their reports were going to be cross-filed at the library archive there. An academic with a personal investment in what was going on would be good to have.

Governor Leone Aita stood up. He’d taken the head of the table, though Marschall Braginski was looming immediately to his right and slowly encroaching over the corner of the table.

“You should all be familiar with the general contents of this document,” he said. “These are your official reference copies, though, and by the time we land on Theiostea you should know the thing forwards and backwards. If you’d please turn to page-”

He checked his own copy.

“-twenty-three.”

Terenzia opened to the correct page. It was a basic statistics sheet, giving the breakdown of the passenger manifest.

“Our initial settlement group consists of 376 humans, 289 Honalenier, and 287 Jäger,” the Governor continued. “Of the humans, thirty-six are unmarried adults and 114 are married, for a total number of fifty-seven married couples, five of which are same-gender marriages. Forty of those fifty-seven married couples have children. We only accepted children under the age of five, and total number of children going to Theiostea is sixty-three. Fifty-six of those children belong to two-parent households, while seven have only one parent. 190 of all humans going to Theiostea are male, 183 are female, and three gave a different gender when asked to fill out their applications.”

“Of the Jäger,” Marschall Braginski said, moving onto the next portion of the statistics. “150 are in the Dragoner Regiment, seventy-five are in the Husar, thirty-seven in the Zauber, and twenty-five in the Reiter. We have no children, but two-”

He paused, and smiled at her and Árpád.

“-soon to be three, married couples. 137 of the Jäger are women, 133 are men, and seventeen are neither.”

“How many of them are human?” one the administrators on Governor Aita’s staff asked.

“I do not know,” Marschall Braginski. “We did not count.”

“Why not?”

“They’re all Jäger,” Terenzia’s mother said. “It doesn’t matter. As for the Honalenier who are going, 141 are Thálassian, ninety-three are Steppean-”

Terenzia actually looked down at the list to check that, and was surprised to find that it was accurate. She hadn’t heard anything about _that._

“-and fifty-five are Domdruc. The Thálassians have no family units, but every Domdruc is in an arrangement, and all of the Steppeans are from the same section of the same _gerekh_.”

Ah. So _that_ was how they’d gotten so many.

“Word of advice,” Terenzia said to the Venetian administrators seated across the table. “Don’t say _‘clan’_ or _‘tribe’_ when you mean _‘gerekh’_. You’ll offend them; and you have to live with them.”

“The Thálassians all know Italian,” her mother continued. “The Domdruc have a mix of French and German, and the Steppeans the Trade Creole. I know our travel time is going to be used for language instruction, but this is so you know what you’ll be working with. Many of our Jäger know at least a little Italian, most of them can work in French, and all of them know the Trade Creole. We’ve also covered Thálassian, Rinnrdrusk, and Steppean, so we’ll also be handling any translation needs.” 

“In total,” Governor Aita said, picking up again. “We have 852 people going. About two-thirds of those will be involved in food production- farming, animal husbandry, the sea salt farms, and hunting and fishing-”

“Assuming,” Marschall Braginski interjected. “That the native wildlife will not kill us with biological toxins.”

Terenzia was pretty sure her mother had just kicked him under the table.

“And the rest,” the Governor continued, looking faintly disturbed. “Will be involved in auxiliary physical labor, maintenance, governance, and supporting scientific work, such as surveying, taxonomy, and the identification of natural resources. Our job is to establish a colony that can feed itself, and then build up a food surplus and the basic structure to support the second group of colonists, who will be coming to work the natural resources.”

“In turn,” Marschall Braginski said. “Those natural resources will serve as the basis for industrialization. When the colony has reached this stage, it will be considered a success, and a recognized and fully-equal portion of the Republic of Venice. Trade will begin between Theiostea and the Pict, and then from Theiostea back to Earth- and humanity will have proven it can walk in the stars. Doubtless others will follow, and we can only hope-”

Her mother had _definitely_ kicked him to shut him up this time.

* * *

János was deeply conflicted about Árpád going to space.

On one hand- they were an adult, and had been an adult for some time now. They were also a Jager, and that counted for a lot, especially on top of being a Witchbreaker and a _tudós pásztor_ and not having a bit of non-magical heritage to them. They could definitely take care of themselves.

But they were going to a completely different planet, and he wasn’t coming along. They’d have Diana looking after them, and Terenzia, and the Marschall- but that wasn’t the _same._ He hadn’t let them grow up in Berlin because of Cassiel, and he had always been certain that they would be safe with his mother.

Logically, he knew very well that even in the event of total disaster, Ivan Braginski was a Nation and it wouldn’t matter to him if Árpád was technically at the same social and magical level as him- he would defend them with life after life until the danger was gone, someone got to Árpád, or he himself died for good.

Árpád was definitely going to be safe. But it wasn’t the _sort_ of safe that János felt he could trust anymore- if he couldn’t go and _see_ his family members, they didn’t count as safe. He hadn’t been able to go see his father, and _he_ was supposed to have been safe in Irkalla.

Sometimes, he went out to the edge of Orcus, to the wooden walkway over the marshes to Irkalla, and just _sat,_ staring at the walls of Irkalla and trying to feel Austria. Nia had told him that he’d made it there safe, and that he’d be healing and could come back and see him- but János wasn’t going to believe it until it happened.

“ _Apa_.”

He took a deep breath.

“I’m going to be okay,” he said. “I just-”

“I know,” Árpád told him. “Here.”

They held out a necklace to him- a simple thing, a silver chain with a stag charm.

“There are stories about couples parting,” they said. “And the man who’s leaving gives the woman a bead necklace, or a silver cup, or a mirror; and when he stops loving her or gets cursed or whatever happens, the necklace snaps or the cup blackens or the mirror shatters. So I figured I could do something like that. The charm will go dark if I’m really _really_ in trouble, or I die, somehow. I made it out of pure gold though, because silver just tarnishes if it’s in the air and gold doesn’t oxidize at all. You won’t mistake it.”

János took it.

“A stag?” he asked. “For the Hunt?”

“And _Nagymama_ ,” Árpád said.

János looped the chain a few times around his wrist and then took the back of his child’s head in both hands. Árpád was unfairly a little taller than him, so he had to look up a bit to meet their eyes.

“Be careful,” he said. “Come back.”

“I will, _Apa_ ,” they told him, smiling a little. “And you can tell the Jagdsprinz I promised, so she can hold me to it.”

János managed a small smile back, and messed up their hair.

“Go catch up to your wife,” he ordered. “You’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“A year, _Apa_ ,” Árpád said. “And then the ship will be back with our mail. There’ll be a letter for you.”

They turned and walked away, and János didn’t move until the ship had taken off.

* * *

The _ANV Ludovico Manin_ lived up to some of Emma’s expectations of a space ship- it was large, it was automated, and it had artificial gravity. That last one wasn’t exactly _new-_ the Mars station had it- but she’d never been in artificial gravity before, and it was cool because it was so normal.

And it wasn’t like she’d been expecting Star Trek fabricators or something, but-

The _Ludovico Manin_ didn’t have any windows.

All there would have been to see was space, and she understood that space would probably get pretty boring pretty soon and that there were a lot of good structural reasons why the ship shouldn’t and didn’t have any big viewing windows; but there had been great big windows on every ship she’d ever seen in any movie or television show, and it was weird not having one. The artificial lighting was pretty good, and there were on-board hydroponics and large open spaces for the animals they were bringing, but it wasn’t the same.

Still, the animal enclosures were the best she was going to get to being able to go outside, and after about a week she was kind of missing it.

The _Ludovico Manin_ had been designed strategically. The part of the ship you saw from the outside was a shell, meant for multiple uses and able to enter and exit atmosphere. The _‘front’_ part, with the pilot’s area and the crew quarters and the wiring and maintenance and the air and water and waste recyclers and the engine access and artificial gravity at the bottom, everything that was essential for the running of the ship, was part of this shell.

The _‘back’_ part of the shell was a large, open hollow space; for this journey, packed full of smaller, compartmentalized drop ships, connected by bridges and tunnels and stairs that were more like ladders than anything. Most of these ships were residential- three bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and an eating/living room, with storage space. They were kind of small, but they were only meant to be lived in for six months.

In six months, they’d be in Theiostea, and the drop ships would be dropped, and the residential ships would turn into the core of the planet-side houses. They could be lived in until actual houses had been built, and then the plumbing, wiring, and computer systems- designed for this purpose- could be extracted and transferred into the new buildings. Then the ships could be broken down and used for scrap metal and plastic and parts.

There were only a handful of ships that weren’t designed to be taken apart- the hospital ship, the hydroponics, and the animal ships. Even the drop ship given over to the government of the colony would be taken apart once the residential buildings had been erected, and the storage drop ships broken down and reassembled as planet-side barns and warehouses. Eventually, the hydroponics and the animals would probably be moved over, but that was a job for when they were growing some food.

The hospital ship would be the last to be broken down, and that would probably take until industrialization. They had to be _absolutely_ certain that they could replace it with something of as good as or better quality, and that would take a while.

Once the drop ships had been released, and the colony initially established, the _Ludovico Manin_ would start the six-month journey back to Earth to report on their progress, deliver the reports, take on the supplies that hadn’t been able to fit the first time around, and acquire anything the colonists had figured out they needed in the six months on the ship and the first month or so of setting up shop. It would turn into a cargo ship, making the six months runs in succession until the colony was ready to take on the next group of workers. Then, the shell would packed full of drop ships again, and the process would repeat.

Characteristically, when she went down to the animal ships to take in what fake nature she could, Leutnant Héderváry was there fussing over everything, talking to the horses and checking on the rabbits and feeding the chickens and petting the goats and brushing the cows. If there were more than one or two waking hours when they _weren’t_ down here, Emma would be surprised. They took the animals almost more seriously than the people.

At the very least she should take care of her own horses, so she let her main mount out of her stall to walk around on a lead.

“I am going to be _so_ happy to get off this ship,” she said to her superior officer. “Planetside is going to be _great._ I probably won’t even mind the physical labor, at least for a little bit.”

“It will be good for the horses,” they agreed. “I’m going to find them a great big pasture. Probably put the cows next to them, or even in with them- it’s not like we’re starved for space. And we’re going to have to find space for the rabbit hutches. I’m thinking they can go behind the stable ships. The chickens can be free-range, within limits, and the goats too-”

If she let them go on she’d be listening to animal husbandry musings until she left.

“It would be so much easier if we could just take the World Gate,” she said. “Like the Hunt did to move people and supplies into Rome. I wonder if you could stretch it that far. Does it even _have_ an upper limit?”

“I don’t really want to try to find out,” Leutnant Héderváry said. “You’d have to send someone through to check, and what if they didn’t come back?”

“I’m just saying,” Emma told them. “It could be worth looking into. Maybe we should include a note in the report to ask the Workshop to look into it. It seems like the sort of thing Leutnantkommandant Costa could really get into. She’s really into experimentation that way- sometimes I think there’s nothing she _wouldn’t_ do, just to see what happens.”

Leutnant Héderváry went very still.

“If that characteristic could be grown in the Hunt’s own ground,” they said carefully. “Then something, somewhere, is horribly wrong.”

Later, when it was about time for dinner, Emma Miccichelo would remember about Cassiel Navin and curse her memory.

* * *

Nazario was still getting used to the idea that he had an actual office- grad students didn’t get offices- and was wondering about what the exactly the first set of paper topics was going to be when there was a knock on his doorframe.

He looked up to see Odette, half leaning into the room around the doorframe.

“Hey,” she said. “You up for a research opportunity?”

“Uh,” he said. “That’s kind of my job.”

“Great- are you free from about eleven on?” Odette asked. “Because there’s going to be something interesting going up at the Jagdshall and I think you could get into it.”

Nazario was free until three-thirty that afternoon, so he searched around in his office for a notebook, checked the amount of charge left on his recorder and how much memory he had free on his phone for pictures, and joined her at the tram station half an hour later. They rode up to the Jagdsberg stop, next to Sebastianhaus and cut across the wide green lawn to get to the other side of the circular split Avenue du Sankt-Michelmarc made around the old building; then followed the avenue up to Kirchenplatz, passing between the Mechanics and Engineering building and Mail and Telecommunications with the repair yards out back.

The Swiss Reformed Church at the northern end of Kirchenplatz was a welcome landmark, but it felt strange to cut across the square to the ceremonial avenue that led up to the Jagdshall instead of going up Officers’ Row, which was the main road into Barrackstown and really the only part of the Jagdsberg that Nazario knew well.

The ceremonial avenue didn’t feel very ceremonial- it was quite wide, without any dividing island down the middle, but it was very clearly not constructed with truck or automobile traffic in mind. There were Jäger walking and riding up and down the road on business, and people cutting across to get to and from the stables and Barrackstown, and there was a steady trickle of traffic from Honalee, riders and wagons and people on foot, headed down towards Kirchenplatz. There were Jäger from a Dragoner Regiment standing at what were clearly regular posts as guards, but they weren’t doing much to direct or control the traffic. It was just kind of _happening._

Not ceremonial in the least.

It was quite a long avenue, though, and it was straight but it was also on an incline, so Nazario couldn’t see the Jagdshall until he and Odette were most of the way there, when it started to rise into their field of vision, the main part of the building perpendicular to the avenue, but the east wing sticking forward at an angle and west wing sticking straight back along the road to Honalee.

The Jagdshall was an odd sort of space, beyond the asymmetrical placement of the wings. You could see where the original building, that _Avus_ had told him about, had been gutted, added onto, and partially refaçaded. The original building had been gray stone, and some of it was still visible around the official entrance- they’d knocked in part of the original wall to make that, Nazario knew from some of the stories his father had told about coming here when he was young, and the oreads had reshaped, carved, and polished some of the stone that had been taken from the original building to make the façade around the large wooden doors. The rest of the stone had been broken along its cleavage lines into some of the stone roof tiles, though most of them had been made specially out of the mountain and canyon rock native to the Jägerskov.

The rest of the building’s façade was patterned, colored brick, broken by thick wooden beams and window dressing, carved and varnished. Parts of the designs shone, and Nazario was pretty sure that they’d carved into the wood and filled the gaps with gold or brass, especially on the delicate, intricate window shutters, but Odette shooed him through the ceremonial entrance before he’d had to time to look around.       

There were two Jäger standing guard just inside, one by each interior door out of the atrium, but they clearly recognized her because all she said was “he’s with me” and they just let them walk by over the highly-polished and marvelously-patterned wood floor to the dark-stained and polished and carved wooden staircase, the wooden landing railing inlaid with the gold and brass that he’d gotten a glimpse of outside-

At the top of the staircase, the landing turned out to be a long hallway sort of area, partially blocked off from a different space by thin, delicately-carved sections of what couldn’t be called screens because they were clearly a permanent part of the structure. On the opposite wall, in niches, a row of wooden statues with gold or brass accents stood proud and regal.

Nazario reflected that it was not at all hard to pick up on the theme of the interior decoration. It was opulent in the way of Honalee, and all this parquetry and marquetry and gold and brass inlays and-  oh, the tops of the small hall tables looked like they’d been inlaid with amber and purple-red porphyry and colored stone he just couldn’t identify in geometric patterns that echoed the atrium floor- stone and _everything_ was probably specific to the Jägerskov. It would definitely explain all the wood.

“We’re going to have to give it a minute,” Odette informed him, peeking into the larger space beyond. “They’re still busy.”

Nazario was fine with waiting a couple more minutes, given that he didn’t really know what he was supposed to be impatient about. There were definitely things to look at.

“How is _that_ not falling down?” he asked her, pointing to a massive disk of what looked like solid cast gold inset into the wall on the opposite side of the opening for the atrium stairs. It seemed a little odd, because the design of it didn’t fit very well with the rest of the décor, despite the way it had been incorporated the marquetry on the wall- it was clearly meant to be the sun, hanging in the sky over the Tree of the Golden Apples. The entire thing looked startlingly real, in wood.  

“I have no idea,” Odette told him. “I don’t know about the technical parts of architecture. I just know about the reasoning behind it all. The tree is obvious-”

She pointed to the statues.

“-but most people who come through here, because usually it’s humans, don’t know that those are the Erlkönig and the Knights of the Hunt that died fighting the demon Mephistopheles. And they can’t read _that-_ ”

He looked to where she was indicating and saw that there was gold inlay above the partially-there wall. It was clearly writing, but he couldn’t read it.

“-is the original Rinnrdrusk script, that huldrene usually still write in. It’s the words of the Irvinrdisganheid- _‘With this pact of blood and iron sealed in gold we are as one people sovereign and eternal’_. And it’s not even just the Irvinrdisganheid any longer, if you’re the right sort of person to be looking at it. It can be Earth and Honalee, since they were brought together by the Hunt killing Mephistopheles and the relationship kept up and grew because of trade; or Martinach and Liechtenstein because-”

A Jäger appeared in one of the breaks in the screening wall.

“Odette,” he said. “ _Elti_ wants to know what you’re doing here.”

“This is Emma’s brother, Arik,” she told him. “Nazario. He’s one of the professors at the university and he’s teaching the class about the relationship and cultural exchange between humans and Honalenier, so I thought he could benefit from talking to the High Priestess.”

“ _‘High Priestess’_?” Nazario asked, confused. He’d been under the distinct impression, given the vociferousness of the staff meeting about _‘Honalenier theology’_ that they didn’t _have_ any religion.

“It’s for the _university,_ ” Odette pressed. “He even came prepared to do an interview. Come _on,_ Arik- the Jagdsprinz is trying to convince her of our good will, isn’t she?”

“Well,” Arik said. “I can’t _actually_ stop you from coming in.”

Odette flashed him a smile, grabbed Nazario’s arm, and pulled him into the further space.

Wait- this was the Court Gallery, because that was the Jagdsprinz’s throne at the far end with the demon’s wings fanned out behind it and the skull-

Oh, _that_ was unnerving. _Avus_ hadn’t said anything about _that_ when he’d talked about the Hunt and the Jagdshall with him and Emma. He was going to have to try not to look up there any longer.

There was a small group at the throne-end of the room that Odette was pulling him towards, and she started informing him about what was going on quietly.

“The High Priestess of the Turājada Dhineijan-”

“The _who?_ ”

“I’m going to explain,” she promised. “She showed up with a small retinue two evenings ago at the Tree and the Well, demanding to know if it was true that the demon Mephistopheles was dead and that there was a human Jagdsprinz.”

“It’s been fifty years,” Nazario said. “I thought _everyone_ had heard about that like, as soon as it happened.”

Odette stopped.

“Look,” she said, strangely awkward. “Nazario- Dr. Miccichelo. In the Silent Hills- in Tylwyth, where the name comes from originally, the Turājada Dhineijan are the Dynion o Tuadei. Well. That’s what they call _themselves._ My mother is Dynion o Tuadei.”

“I thought your mother was human,” Nazario said.

Odette stared at him, rather uncomfortably, until he got it.

 _“Oh,”_ he said. “Human slaves.”

“It wasn’t in your syllabus because I’m the only person who really knows anything about it,” she told him, a little rushed. “The culture. _‘Dynion o Tuadei’_ means _‘People of the Tuadei’_ , that’s their pantheon. They’re named for their religion. I only even know that my mother followed that because I asked her when I was younger and she told me she did but she didn’t actually _tell_ me anything about it. I- I was raised as the daughter of Prince Ly Erg, son of Queen Nicnevin of the Tylwyth Teg and the Silent Hills and Jagdsprinz Erlkönig. I’m going to be Queen of the Tylwyth Teg after my father. I’m not- I’m not _human_ enough to be told anything about it, all I know are the names in Tylwyth; if my father had just _used_ my mother and hadn’t married her and she was still a slave or just some freed human then maybe- in the Silent Hills it’s a slave religion and you don’t _talk_ about it with Honalenier. I don’t even know if my father knows my mother still practices- anyway the High Priestess is the spiritual and cultural leader of the settlements of escaped humans on the Steppes and the neighborhood in Lanka Kubera and out _there,_ where they’ve never been slaves, they talk about it so I thought for your class and your research you could, um, talk to her. Find out about the things nobody else could give you.”

That was an awful lot to be trusted with at once.

“Thank you,” Nazario told her after a moment. “If she’ll talk to me about her religion and her people, I’ll be happy to listen.”

Odette relaxed a lot at that, and gave him his arm back. He got to walk under his own power with her the rest of the way over.

“High Priestess Jehanne,” she said to the group, to get the woman’s attention.

That was the old form of Jeanne, Joan- they’d had contact with Medieval France? With Christianity? He was going to note that down as soon as possible.

The woman who turned around was wearing a tight, elbow-length sleeved red dress with a long blue cloth with a thick border of complicated gold embroidery wrapped around herself over it- the cloth confused him, because the voluminous floor-length draping reminded him of a Roman toga, but the end was gathered up in neat pleats over one shoulder instead of letting it hang loose over an arm, and obviously draped down in front of the dress, and then a corner brought up and pinned at the opposite shoulder to fan out the embroidery.

Wait, no- it wasn’t a dress, he realized, as he looked at the other people with her. It was a tight-fitting top worn with a long, loose skirt or pants, with no apparent division by gender- maybe rank?- and they didn’t have to match in color. In fact, it seemed like they weren’t _supposed_ to match in color. The draping cloth- on everyone else much less wide, so that it didn’t cover past the knees- was tucked into the waistband of the skirt or pants and then wrapped and pinned about, leaving sections of the color of the underclothes to show through.

  They were from the Steppes, and Lanka Kubera, Nazario remembered; and suddenly the draping made sense. They seemed vaguely like saris, likely borrowed from something similar in Lanka Kubera. He put it down to the strange surface-level parallels that were common between the Honalenier Kingdoms and the Earth cultures that sat at the opposite ends of a link between the worlds- but there was still something bothering him about the High Priestess’s outfit.

“This is Dr. Nazario Miccichelo,” Odette introduced him. “He’s one of our human professors at the Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein. In the terms of Honalee, he’s a Master Scholar who works with other Master Scholars to educate a large group of people who want to learn a certain subject, and maybe even become Scholars and Master Scholars themselves. One of the things he studies and teaches is how humans and Honalenier have interacted. He’d like to talk to you to learn about your people, if you would permit it.”

“I have no objections,” the High Priestess said in very careful, accented French.

“Thank you,” Nazario told her. “I’d like to go somewhere a little less-”

“I know a place,” Odette cut in, and led them out a side door, followed by two of the Priestess’s companions- less senior clergy?- to a long hallway with window after window looking out over the stone-paved plaza in front of the Jagdshall. She turned them right down the hall and took them to the end, where the end of it was screened off to provide a small, semi-private seating area. It was right behind the marquetry mural of the Tree and above the stairs, Nazario knew, because the big golden disk was visible on this side of the wall, too.

She made sure they were seated and then disappeared behind the screen, presumably to stand with the Priestess’s companions.

“Well,” Nazario said. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been interviewed before, for research purposes. Ode- Lady von Rothbart didn’t really tell me anything before bringing me up here, so I don’t have questions prepared. I can just ask you a few things and you can talk- it can be kind of like a conversation, only I’ll be taking notes and recording you, if that’s okay.”

“ _‘Recording’_?” she asked.

He pulled it out and demonstrated it to her, reciting the first couple of lines of Genesis, and then playing them back.

She nodded thoughtfully.

“Interesting,” she said. “That seems very convenient. May _I_ ask questions?”

“If you have one, I don’t mind.”

“I have never heard that story of Ereshkigal creating a Kingdom before,” she said. “Which one was that? Was it Irkalla; or one of the ones you have here?”

“That had nothing to do with Ereshkigal,” Nazario told her, and thought that maybe they _hadn’t_ encountered Christianity before, and the name was coincidence. “It was about God.”

“But God is Ereshkigal, I thought,” the High Priestess said.

“No,” Nazario explained. “There’s _a_ god, or gods, and I _guess_ you could call Ereshkigal one- but _God_ is _the_ god. The only one.”

“There is _not_ only one god,” the High Priestess informed him. “There were eight, and now there are seven. Two of them are dead.”

“Well, in my religion,” Nazario told her. “There’s only one. It’s called _‘Christianity’_ , and I’m the sort that’s called _‘Catholic’_.  There are a lot of Christians, and whenever someone says just _‘God’_ , they mean the Christian one- or the Jewish one. I don’t think there are any Muslims around here, but them too.”

She looked very confused, so he tried to clarify.

“Christianity and Islam- Muslims- came out of Judaism,” he told her. “We share the same God. We just have a lot of different ideas and practices.”

“I am just going to trust you on that,” the High Priestess said. “What do you want to know from me?”

“Well,” Nazario said. “Your name is interesting, for one. There’s an old French name that’s pronounced the same as yours, so I was wondering if maybe there were French people who were taken to Honalee.”

“I have no idea,” she said. “By the time they make it to the Steppes, or Kubera, or even just to escaping- they have forgotten, if they ever knew. Or their parents or grandparents were brought to Honalee and died here- there, and they were never told. New Turājada Dhineijan come to us with only their names. Everything else has been taken from them. But _‘Jehanne’_ was the name of a woman who died in the Hills that one of my father’s friends knew, so perhaps she was French.”

“Okay,” Nazario said. “Now, I know that the usual way for escaped humans to get to the Steppes is for them to be taken to the Hills, and then escape to the Jägerskov, and get moved on by the Domdruc from there. But are there any other ways?”

“When the Thálassians take human men to play with,” the High Priestess told him. “They lived on the edge of the Jägerskov by the Sea. Many of them, and their fey children, came to us when the demon came to the Jägerskov. The ones who did not went to Buyan and lived on the opposite side of the island from Kitezh, because if they lived closer the Buyanov would assume they were some of _their_ escaped slaves. Sometimes humans escaped through Chicomoztoc, though not as often. And there have always been stray humans who wander into Honalee without being taken, and cannot get back or do not care to leave. The Kūnlún have been known to take away human lovers, like the Thálassians, but the Tylwyth and the Buyanov are the only ones who have taken _slaves-_ and the Tylwyth more than anyone else. We have a few humans who left Kūnlún, as well.”

“I asked because Lady von Rothbart said that in the Hills the humans hide their religion,” he explained. “But that you and the other humans on the Steppes and in Lanka Kubera are more open about it. Are there other differences between your two groups?”

“The differences are in the names,” she said. “And how people will talk about them with Honalenier. The gods have one name in the Hills, where they are not spoken of out of fear; another in the Jägerskov, where the huldrene do not much care; another on Buyan and among the Thálassian humans, who practice quietly; and another in the Steppes and Lanka Kubera, where we will talk about them with anyone who wants to listen. But the story is the same.”

“Could you tell me some of the differences in the names?” Nazario asked. “And what story?”

“The story of the gods,” the High Priestess told him. “What other story would there be?”

“On Earth,” he said. “Usually religions have more than one story.”

“Hm,” she said. “Well, so do we- but this is the important one. I will tell you the story of the Turājada, and the names.”

Nazario quickly checked to see how much room he had left on the notebook page, and decided to start a new one for this.

“There once were two sisters,” the High Priestess began. “Known as Gaethan and Glathían in the Hills, Geidann and Gradeina in the Jägerskov, Gaiadia and Galadia to the Thálassian humans, and Ghedan and Garadaina in Kubera. Ghedan lived in the mountains in the far east, and Garadaina by the sea. Between them was a forest, and in it lived a man named Ahrajai- or Haranga, or Äragi, or Aeraganos.  Ahrajai saw Ghedan up in the mountains, and wished to marry her. He wooed her, and they were wed, and had a daughter they called Agemaridan- or Gemorthan, or Maridom, or Agamerdia. She grew up in the mountains and the forest, and visiting her aunt. Eventually, she married- to a sorcerer who rode over her mother’s mountains out of the lands of the dead on a white horse. He was called Dagavethna- or Dagwynda, or Dagvenda, or Dagaiodios.

Now, time passed, and Ghedan began to realize that her husband was not a pleasant man. He became angry easily, and was quick to violence where he should have thought instead, and slow to let go of grudges. Their daughter had the same sort of impetuousness- but, as Ghedan saw Agemeridan with Dagavethna, she saw that her daughter was calmed and constrained by her love for her husband and the sorcerer’s good sense. Ghedan knew that she did not have this effect on Ahrajai, and despaired.

Eventually, after she had become too unhappy to bear it any longer, she went to her sister by the sea to discuss with her what to do with her husband. But Ahrajai, who had noticed that his wife was increasingly unhappy and distant, followed her. When he heard the things that Ghedan had to say about him he burst into Garadaina’s house and killed his wife, then attacked her sister. Garadaina called to Agemaridan for help, but Ahrajai fled into the forest in the form of a stag before her niece or her niece’s husband could stop him. Agemaridan was furious and swore vengeance on her father her killing her mother and harming her aunt in such a way. She wished to burn down the forest to kill him or flush him out, since there were many stags in the forest and she could not kill them all, but Dagavethna convinced her not to. Instead she took her mother’s body to the easternmost point in the mountains, at the end of the living world, and buried her there. An apple tree with fruit and flowers as golden as her fires grew over it.”

Ah- Nazario could see the possible foundation for the story clearly now. The Mountains in the east and the Sea to the south, with the Jägerskov and the Hills between them and freedom beyond them. Escaping humans would likely have taken the pass through the mountains to Lintukoto, and going that way they would pass by the Tree and the Well- obvious markers.

As for the divide between the living lands and the lands of the dead- well, death was one sort of freedom.

“Dagavethna did not go with his wife to the mountains, staying behind to make certain that Garadaina was not hurt- but she was grieving greatly for her sister, and worse, they discovered that Ahrajai’s attack had made her pregnant.”

Oh. Oh dear- that had been euphemism.

But that made a certain terrible sense, as well. If the forest was also the Hills, then the god of them would be a stand-in for the Tylwyth lords, who stole humans for sex.

Plenty of reason, too, to hide your religion and never repeat your stories where your slavers could hear. Nazario had the feeling that Ahrajai was going to come to an unpleasant end.

“Agemaridan returned from the mountains to find that her aunt was pregnant by her father and, still furious, cursed her unborn half-brother and cousin so that he would be born with the black wings of her hawks and carry the mark of their father’s crime until Ahrajai was killed. Dagavethna, seeing that his wife would be ruled by her anger until that time came, convinced her to go back to the mountains and guard them and her mother’s grave against her father. When Garadaina gave birth her to her son, she named him Ahrahnaraja- or Herunnas, or Aranz, or Irunanos- and then died. Dagavethna took him over the mountains to his home in the lands of the dead, so that his father could never find him, and raised him there, teaching him magic.

And so Ahrahnaraja grew up in the lands of the dead learning all that he needed to learn, and marked by his wings. He grew to adulthood and into glory, glory enough that he attracted the love of a young woman of that place, Saghankhara- or Saegan, or Seike, or Tsaegaia. He met her and loved her as well, and wished to marry her; but Dagavethna told him that Saghankhara was part of the lands of the dead in a way that he would never be, and that no one left the lands of the dead except a powerful sorcerer like himself, or a living person who had found their way over the mountains, as Ahrahnaraja had been brought over.”

Wait. Seike, and a _‘glorious’_ man with wings- the Thálassians had presumably taken Greeks and Romans, hadn’t they, since their connection came out in the Venetian Lagoon and therefore the Adriatic? The Greeks had had the story of Psyche, and Cupid.

“Ahrahnaraja knew that he was meant to leave the lands of the dead now that he was grown, to find his father and avenge his mother- but he wished to have Saghankhara with him. So, he searched out his aunt in the lands of the dead. In death she shone with the brilliance of her fires, and guarded the gates of the lands of the dead from this side, as she had guarded them from the side of the living in the mountains, and Dagavethna was the only one she had allowed over. But Ahrahnaraja pleaded with her, and because she knew that her daughter had found happiness with the sorcerer she had let pass freely through life and death, she allowed Ahrahnaraja to take Saghankhara with him when he crossed back to the living lands to meet his half-sister and kill his father.

Agemaridan had taken over the job of guarding the lands of the dead in the mountains, and knew immediately when she saw Ahrahnaraja who he was, because of his wings. With Dagavethna’s help, the three of them devised some magic to find Ahrajai. He was still a stag when they came upon him in the forest- he ran, and they hunted him until they downed him, and stripped him of his hide and antlers. Ahrahnaraja shed his wings, and made a crown and cape of his father’s antlers and hide; and Agemaridan made certain that Ahrajai’s soul went to the lands of the dead and did not linger as a ghost, and she and her mother and her husband bound him there.”

Oh, God, the parallelism was getting complicated in this later part of the story- and Nazario was willing to bet that it not only came later in the telling, but had been added on later in history than the first part of it- almost definitely showed a greater Honalenier influence than what had come before.

 _‘Before’_ was pretty clearly revenge-fantasy on the part of the humans, fused with elements from the religions they’d brought with them to Honalee, to symbolically kill the slavers- Ahrajai- who had abducted and abused them; but the _‘after’_ portion sounded like a somewhat twisted and fragmented, but very direct, reference to the Jagdsprinz. A man with a crown of antlers in the forest between the Mountains and the Sea? A traitor- a god, a _King-_ escorted to the lands of the dead and bound there?

He’d have to ask if the Jagdsprinz was responsible for taking dead Kings to Irkalla, like she was for Nations.  

“And things were good for a time,” the High Priestess continued. “But eventually Ahrajai, who was still powerful and dangerous, was able to slip his bonds and killed his son. He took Ahrahnaraja’s body and gave it false life by putting himself into it, and tried to rule in his son’s place. But Saghankhara could see through his lies easily, because under his corrupting influence Agemaridan’s cursed wings had regrown- tripled, even, because under the unnatural influence of Ahrajai Agemaridan’s curse had warped. Saghankhara was able to escape the forest, but not her nor Dagavethna nor Agemaridan was powerful enough to destroy him.

It is said that Saghankhara was pregnant when she fled, and that her child will come to vanquish Ahrajai, but we are waiting still for revelation. Such is the nature and the story of the Turājada.”

“You know,” Nazario said, because it was too blindingly obvious to _not_ mention. “Mephistopheles was one of our Christian demons. It said so.”

“Ahrajai is a liar and an evil ghost,” the High Priestess said, completely unmoved. “It is in his nature to have false faces and false names. He tried to rule the Jägerskov as he ruled in the forest of the living lands of the gods, which the sündeyalagch of the _gerekh_ can see when they send their spirits out, and caused much harm. When we had word, on the Steppes, that he had been vanquished by a woman, come out of the human lands of our ancestors and created Jagdsprinz by Ereshkigal, we could not let ourselves believe it. We hoped, in our secret hearts, because it was a wonderful dream- the pride of the Tylwyth taken by a human, placing her over all the Kings of Honalee. Then, we heard that not only was the Jagdsprinz human but that she had made the _Hunt_ human, and that the Jagdshall sat on an open road between the human lands and the Jägerskov such that you had merely to walk around the building to get from one to the other-”

She stopped talking, like her throat had suddenly closed up. There was a moment of long silence and Nazario started to get a little alarmed, and nervous- the High Priestess looked like she might cry.

“You do not _understand,_ ” she said, voice much quieter and, yes, verging on tears. “On the Steppes, in Kubera, we could not- we were _told_ these things, by the traveling doctors and the people going to and from Ordon Khot. We heard that the Wandering Sorcerer, the human son of human Kings, had come to Lanka Kubera to learn from the sorcerers and see the library- there are _no_ human Sorcerers or Scholars, Master or otherwise, not like _you,_ not in Honalee. It was- the Wandering Sorcerer, come over the mountains? We never saw him, and it sounded like a cruel joke, the Honalenier throwing our gods and the things we were denied back in our faces, to mock us. We heard all these things, these things that we _wanted_ to believe, so desperately, but _knew_ could never be true, and it was- it _had_ to be a trick, Tylwyth trickery, like we were certain when we saw the Jäger they said was the Jagdsprinz’s son come with a retinue with a Tylwyth woman in it- lies, illusions, glamourie, like they used to trick us to steal us in the first place, we were _certain_ they were trying to trick us into coming back so we would be slaves again- but we kept _hearing_ these things and _hearing_ these things and there were Jäger in Ordon Khot when our people went to the Summer Fair who spoke languages we _knew_ did not exist in Honalee and they said again and again that they were human and, and the _train_ came with _mail,_ for _anyone,_ and one of our people got a letter from a mother he had had to leave behind in the Hills and she said all these _things,_ all of the things we wanted to hear and _more,_ and we could not- we _could not-_ ”

She pressed her hands her mouth and tried to compose herself.

“None of them are expecting me to come back,” she told Nazario, voice broken. “They are certain that the Tylwyth will take me or that Ahrajai will kill me but I learned what I could of the language the Jäger in Ordon Khot who claimed to be human spoke and we came anyway because we _had_ to know- when we got to the head of the Huntsroad and the Tree we were steadied because there were Jäger who spoke the same as those in Ordon Khot, and when we got to Nysa we dared to hope because there were Domdruc at ease in their own home and the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of humans who escaped the Hills who knew our story and our gods and told us that everything was _true,_ and when we got to the Jagdshall-”

Tears were falling on her face now.

“We _saw_ it,” she said. “We _saw_ the human lands and the Jagdshall and we _knew_ it was _true-_ we had _not_ been lied to, and when I fell to the ground and wept on the road the Honalenier were kind and the Jäger brought us to the Jagdsprinz and it was a human woman sitting on the throne with Ahrajai’s cursed wings behind her as trophies and the Jager we had been told was her son was there and she has- she has the children of _Kings_ serving her and she rules in Honalee and in the human lands and they are so much _bigger_ than we ever could have imagined, so many more _people_ and the _things_ they can do, that _we_ could do, they said that there are humans in the _stars_ \- I fear I am dreaming, Master Scholar, that the Tylwyth have truly taken me; but I fear that they will wake me up before I die more. And if I am _not_ dreaming, I- I do not know how I will convince my people that we have not been lied to, but I cannot leave until I find good enough proof, because they _all-_ they _deserve_ to feel this, to _know_ as deeply as they have known that there is no one in Honalee who cared what happened to them- if I have to spend the rest of my life bringing them one by one to see the truth of it, _here,_ then that is what I shall do- they _must_ know that we do _not_ have to live as we have been _-_ we can be _safe_.”

* * *

If the journey to Theiostea had been any more than six months, Ivan was pretty sure that things might have actually deteriorated into violence. You could keep the population density the _Ludovico Manin_ had perfectly fine on Earth- but on a ship, there was nowhere else to _go,_ no one else to _see_ , and so things just… festered.

An entire planet to spread out on was a very welcome change.

The ship sank into atmosphere and released the drop ships only a couple of minutes later, after the pilot and crew had put it to hovering and everything had been confirmed, for the very last time, as secure. The drop process happened smoothly, and if people were a little shaken at the end, no one had gotten hurt.

The trip had been timed so that they would arrive in very early spring, two or three weeks before things would ideally be planted- and when Ivan stepped out of the governance drop ship onto the planet’s surface, the sun was shining, the water in the river was clear and sparkling, it was pleasantly warm with a slight breeze, and the air was thick with the scent of sweet flowers.

He knelt down and dug his fingers into the soil. They came up with damp dirt- dark, with a few small pebbles. The consistency was good, and when he hesitantly investigated it with smell and taste, everything seemed Earth-normal.

Ivan couldn’t help smiling about- well, _everything,_ and felt himself relax for the first time in months. Of all the things the Pict had lied to them about, this wasn’t one of them.

They could plant here. They would not starve- at least not because of that.

The other settlers started to filter out of their drop ships, humans and Steppeans walking about and pointing at things, exclaiming at the scenery and discussing some of the coloring. Huldrene switched to animal forms almost as soon as they crossed their thresholds and started dashing about- a pack of üldrene saw the great open expanse of the riverside plains and went charging off downstream, yipping and barking with excitement and happiness.

Thálassians edged down towards the river, and tentatively tried out the water. Ivan saw a selkie slip into seal form and slide in, and a naiad cup her hands under the water and drink from them. She sat back on her heels, cheeks puffed out from the water she still had in her mouth, apparently considering the taste. After a moment she swallowed, and a short discussion started among everyone clustered on the bank. A little more than a minute later, a rusalka pulled her boots off and waded into the river up to her waist, coat billowing out around her. She stood there for a moment, the current tugging at her, and then abruptly fell over. The selkie popped up a few feet away, human again and laughing.

“The bedrock is good, Marschall,” Hraudaz, one of the oread Jäger, told him. He’d asked them to check as soon as they landed. “Only a little different than home, and we didn’t have any more trouble with it than we do our mountains and the stones in Domdruharc. I don’t think there will be any problems with the mist spirits or the Buyanov, either, judging by the way the Thálassians are acting.”

“Thank you,” he told her, and she wandered off a few feet, sinking back into the ground thoughtfully as she went.

The other members of High Command stopped by to report in- Magda told him that nothing seemed to have knocked loose and then went to talk to the doctors, Adalram gave a preliminary report on the Honalenier that matched what Ivan had been able to see so far, and Árpád stayed for only the barest acceptable minimum of time before hurrying off to coo over and coddle the animals, Terenzia trailing after them with an air of fond indulgence and quick smile for Ivan to reassure him that they would both be on time for the landing wedding celebration.

They had gotten married in Sankt Michelmarc’s a couple of days before the _Ludovico Manin_ had left Earth, but the initial idea of the landing celebration that had become a wedding had turned into a full-fledged cultural and magical and spiritual event. The Governor was going to officially name the colony, the Domdruc were going to reaffirm the Irvinrdisganheid in their new home, and the Steppean _gerekh_ ’s zayaacgh- bestowers of fortune and curses- was going to lay good luck on the land, settlement, and marriage in much the same way that the Catholic priest they’d brought with them was going to hold a short service to ask for the blessing of God and the saints.

The second marriage had turned very symbolic, and Ivan knew that Árpád and the zayaacgh intended to exploit that for all it was worth. The music tonight wasn’t only going to be for dancing.

Diana was the last to show up, and instead of giving a report, she just looked down at where Ivan had sat in the grass and the dirt and matched his wide smile with one of her own.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, too oddly giddy to spare much thought for anything.

“We’re not dead,” she offered.

“No,” Ivan said happily. “No, we are not.”

* * *

The Honalenier had been quite pleased by the second wedding, and Terenzia spent the first couple of days smiling at people and thanking them. She hadn’t expected anyone to be so enthusiastic about the traditional red Hungarian dress, or the matching coat Árpád had had.

“I don’t know if it’s in the standard curricula,” Árpád had to tell her. “I mean, as much as you _had_ one, with just your father teaching you and the others. But Honalee has five basic colors- red, yellow, blue, black, and white- and they’ve all got a standard set of affinities. Usually, in what ritual magic you get, red the color for the life force. It’s a really strong blessing.”

“I know it’s a Christian thing,” Adalram told her a little later, when they were on their first preliminary expedition, to find the best farmland. “But white is a dead color. It’s not really appropriate to get married in, in Honalee, but we’ve gotten used to the humans doing it. This was a nice change.”

They’d built a bridge over the river at its closest point to Regina Caeli- as Governor Aita had revealed name of the settlement, and Terenzia privately thought that maybe that was why the Honalenier were so especially pleased with her second marriage. Living in a place called _‘The Queen of Heaven’_ was probably a little too reminiscent of the Sorcerer-Queen of Kêr-Is, even if they _knew_ the name was referring to the Virgin Mary- so they could cross over to the farmland and landing area beyond.

The ship was parked immediately on the other bank of the river, upstream from the bridge, and they- she, Árpád, Adalram, and some of the farmers- passed it on their way to the farmland beyond. It was massive open space, too big for her to gauge by herself, but she wouldn’t be surprised to find it was several kilometers wide and many more long, judging by the way the hills that she knew were supposed to be on the other side of the further river looked so very small. They were not going to be strapped for farmland any time soon- they just needed to check the soil in a couple of different places, to figure out what would be best to plant where.

It was tremendously boring for her, because she didn’t know anything about farming or really care to know anything about it. Árpád also wasn’t interested at all- their farming cares went no further than animals- and Adalram, she’d learned, had never been a farmer. He was one of the crafting huldrene, who took the skins of the animals the other huldrene killed to cure for leather and bought raw wool out of the Hills to card and spin and dye to make thread and yarn, and then made clothes and household items out of them.

That could have been a good conversation topic, except that they’d gone over it extensively on their trip here.

“Have you caught here anything yet?” she asked instead.

“There’s this type of bird,” he said, and then paused. “Well, I _guess_ it’s a bird. It flies, and it’s got feathers. They’re about so large-”

He held his hands apart maybe half a foot.

“-and yellow and tan and dun and beech and clay and dirty white, with a little purple-gray in the fur.”

_“Fur?”_

“Down the back and around the base of the wings,” Adalram told her. “And then some on the wings’ leading edges. They’ve got four wings, too- a larger upper pair and a smaller lower pair. They look very strange and they sort of whistle when they fly. And they _bite_ when you try to grab them, but I’ve gotten a couple, and they didn’t make me sick or anything.”

“That’s because wolverines are scavengers,” Árpád said. “You can eat _anything_.”

“Not _anything,_ ” Adalram disagreed. “I’ll point one out if I see one, but don’t try to grab it. They have this razor ridge on the inside of their beaks, a few millimeters in. I saw one of the ones I caught take a chunk out of some small mammal thing just by the mammal trying to get away. That’s how I got it, actually- it was trying to eat its kill so I grabbed it while it was distracted.”

The discussion about if such an animal was a bird or not, if it had fur, and what sort of evolutionary advantage it could have gained with both _and_ two sets of wings, was distracting enough to last them through most of the soil testing. Really, it was collecting samples, noting where they’d been found, and plotting an accurate and to-scale map, so the movement away from the river was very slow, even with the three of them on horses and the rest of the expeditionary team in a light off-road truck.

It took them some hours, perhaps, to be finished; and by that point they’d ended up near the delta lands, where the river that ran by the settlement met the furthest edge of the river that came down from the distant hills split around some islands to empty into the bay.

Across the delta, a shining city rose.

“Is that-” Árpád said, shading their eyes. “Is that glass, or metal?”

“No idea,” Terenzia said. “Want to go find out?”

Árpád looked back at Adalram. The three of them were supposed to be guarding the expedition, just in case.

He waved them towards it.

“Go,” he said. “I haven’t seen any large predators in the time we’ve been here, and I doubt that they’ll be any on the way back.”

He switched to German- the slang-heavy, full of loan-words, accented version that had developed in the Hunt, not the standard, just to make certain that the farmers couldn’t understand him.

“Anyway,” he said. “That’s the best place nearby to figure out what happened with the Ramman, and the Ramman are why we have so many Zauber along with us.”

This made good sense, so Terenzia and Árpád left Adalram to escort the farmers and the truck back to the bridge and Regina Caeli. They rode upstream, searching for a bridge- but they passed out the delta area completely without finding one, and further ahead they could see that the land rose beyond the city, and a series of small waterfalls cascaded down the rise.

“No bridges?” Árpád said, confused. The city stopped at the rise, except for one lone building atop it, but there were clearly no bridges before the rise.

“I think it was shallower down in the delta,” Terenzia told them, and they turned around to take a look. Eventually, they found a place that Árpád considered fit for the horses to ford, and they hopped from island to island on a meandering path until they reached the other side.  

The city was-

The city was odd.

If Terenzia hadn’t seen it from the outside, and if the buildings hadn’t clearly been so tall, she wasn’t certain she would have called it a city.

There were no roads, for one.

There was space between the buildings, but it wasn’t regular or even or straight, and they didn’t appear to form any sort of pattern.

“Well, it’s been abandoned for a long time,” Árpád said when she mentioned it.

“But there aren’t any debris,” she pointed out. “There should be rock or concrete or- something, whatever they used for pavement, but there aren’t any signs of that. Just grass.”

For two, the buildings were built- wrong.

It took them nearly fifteen minutes to find one with a ground level entrance. Some of the buildings they passed seemed more like tall metal towers, with no apparent doors or windows. Some of the buildings had expanses of glass many meters high and wide, that gave views of interior spaces without any floors or rooms whatsoever- a few of them lit like they didn’t have any ceilings, and were hollow all the way through. Some of the buildings looked like they were metal columns with levels of open porches built around them. Some of the buildings had exterior doors, placed at apparent random locations and heights in the walls, but none of them lower down than eight feet or so. Some of the buildings were a combination of all of these.

They left the horses outside- Árpád giving them stern instructions to stay put- and walked into the sole building they’d found with an accessible door. The interior space was completely bare, just metal walls- not always smooth, but lacking any sort of actual adornment, including light fixtures. Terenzia called up a little bit of fire to see by, but all they were able to find was a hole in the ceiling that seemed to run all the way up the building- but here, at least, not through the ceiling.

“They were supposed to be space travelers,” Terenzia said. “So what’s with all of _this?_ Did they pack it up and take it all with them?”

“Do you think they flew?” Árpád asked thoughtfully, looking up through the holes. “Or maybe they were worried about some sort of predator getting in?”

“It would have to fly or climb,” she told them. “And some of those buildings didn’t look very defensible.”

They left the building not to long after, unable to find a way to get through the hole to the higher levels or any evidence of hidden rooms or passages or other features. They rode through the rest of the city towards the rise, ignoring the buildings that didn’t have any easy access and only briefly checking the ones that did to see if they had upper-level access. None of the ones they passed appeared to, so they quickly made it to the rise.

Here, there was finally a road. It cut straight up through the rise at a precise, consistent angle. The soil of the hill on either side of the cut had been secured behind a stone cladding, smooth and even, that still had patches of some sort of black stucco- or plaster-like substance caked over it in places. Where the covering was chipped or worn away, it held faded frescoes of swirling colors, carefully rendered in glowing and sparkling colors.

The largest intact portion was about halfway up the road, and Árpád stopped beneath it to inspect it.

“Do you think,” they said, and moved off to the side to view it an angle. “Here, Terenzia, look at it from _this_ angle.”

Terenzia rode up beside them and looked up. The swirling colors seemed to gain depth- some of the colors and sparkles closer, some further. Some parts seemed to coalesce into firmer spots- planets?

 _“Oh,”_ she said, realizing what she was looking at. “It’s space. I wonder which part.”

“Probably the night sky from here,” Árpád said. “But I guess it could be parts of space from their trade empire, if this was done later.”

The lower portions of the rise had been dotted with trees, but when they emerged at the top of the road the trees had grown together into a proper forest off to their right, on the edge of a wide, blasted looking area.

“What could have done _this?_ ” Terenzia wondered aloud, looking around at the scorched-seeming ground. Patches of it, where the dirt had eroded away, looked- glassy, and the ground seemed warped in some areas, rising and falling strangely, and sort of twisted around on itself.

“A bomb?” Árpád suggested tentatively. “I don’t-”

She spotted something in the dirt and slid off her horse to pull it out.

It was a piece of machinery, mostly melted- but from this angle she could see some other pieces, and started walking around, picking them up to look at them. They bothered her a little and she couldn’t figure out why- there were clearly wires and bits of circuit board and other familiar things, even parts of weather-dulled but still-smooth untouched outer casing- until she found part of a head.

“I guess they were human-like then,” she said, tilting the piece back and forth in her hands. The structure was completely humanoid- a robot, clearly, but humanoid. “Or they knew human-like people. You make robots based on what you know, right?”  

“We should probably take that back with us,” they told her, and she tucked it into her saddlebag. “Maybe there was a battle here. Maybe they had robot soldiers, or something.”

In the end, they left without any real answers, just a collection of odd things to report to Marschall Braginski about.

* * *

“Well, there’s a Tylwyth saying that might help,” Odette offered. “ _‘A witch is a witch for all their days, but a sorcerer’s a sorcerer only when it pays’_.”

János was not really certain at all that that helped, but she _was_ trying to be comforting.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked. “Exactly?”

“Once you’re a witch you’re always a witch,” she said. “It doesn’t matter _what_ else you do. But doing any sort of other magic- you can stop doing it whenever you want. But it also comes out when it really _needs_ to, like with the stories about Zaubleutnant Agresta. If your child is in trouble, the magic will be instinctual. You really don’t need to worry about it.”

He was _going_ to keep worrying about it, though, because today was Árpád’s birthday and they weren’t here for it. He’d seen them every single birthday they’d ever had up until this year, and the break of routine was a little depressing.

“I could try to find you something to distract you,” Odette offered. “Or you could go talk to Pri- uh, Lady Beilschmidt. She’d probably be able to find you something to do, or you could both just talk.”

“I don’t think that would do much for me,” he told her. “I’ll be fine.”

She clearly didn’t believe him very much, she had a class to go teach, so she didn’t stay even ten minutes more. The other professors who had been around had classes in the same period, or work to go get done, so soon he was alone in the faculty longue in the administration building.

So he jumped when someone behind him said: “You are distressed.”

He turned around to see Cherendai Temurev standing behind him, watching him.

“It’s my eldest’s birthday today,” János told her. “But they’re on Theiostea.”

“Horsecharmer?” she asked, and took a chair near him. “Yes, I know the feeling. It was my _gerekh_ who went with them.”  

“What, _all_ of it?” he asked, surprised. “They’d leave for another _planet_ without their shaman?”

Cherendai frowned at that.

“I’ve asked around,” she told him. “About what that words means, because you said that’s how you have translated sündeyalacgh- but no one has been able to _tell me_ what it means.”

“It’s kind of vague,” János told her. “It’s a very broad term, which is why we chose it- it’s a sort of spirit-worship thing. It’s somebody who can travel to the spirit world and deal with the spirits to affect the natural world and heal people. There’s trances and drumming and incense and hallucinogenic drugs and- _things_ involved. Sometimes there are other-”

 _“Spirit world?”_ Cherendai asked. “What is _that?_ ”

“It’s, uh, where the spirits live?” János said uncertainly. “I don’t know, I’m not a shaman. But like nature spirits, and animal spirits, and dead people.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she told him. “You don’t need to be anything special to talk to nature spirits. You just go to Buyan, or the Jägerskov, or Póli Thálassas. They’re not _hiding._ Animal spirits do not exist; and the only time _anyone_ talks to the dead, unless they are a necromancer, are when there are ghosts around.”

“Wait, wait,” he said. _“Ghosts?”_

“Yes, ghosts,” Cherendai said. “But if _that_ is what a shaman is, then it’s false translation. There are no shamans in Honalee.”

“But you-” János started to say.

“ _I_ am sündeyalacgh,” she cut him off. “I can send my soul out of my body to walk about, and interact with other people’s souls that way, but there is no special world where this happens. It’s this one, just as a spirit. I don’t need a _trance,_ or drugs, or any sort of ritual to do it. I don’t even really need magic. I can just _do it,_ with some focus and practice. I can change my own soul, and defend other’s from witch-sündeyalacgh who wish to harm them, but nothing more.”

“Well-”

“I am not _done,_ Wanderer,” she said, raising a finger. “There are also kümecgh, who heal people’s- hm. I know the- _psychological_ problems. _They_ are the ones who go into a trance, and use incense to help them focus; because they go straight into people’s minds and it is easy to get lost there. That is a very difficult job, and you have to be suited to it, because everyone’s mind can only be understood through their own personal symbolism and it takes a _lot_ of work to get results in people. Sometimes they work with khuvunshicgh, who are somewhat like sündeyalacgh, because they can read people’s personalities and understand what they are _really_ saying, behind their words. Usually they are diplomats or councilors or interpreters, but this is a useful skill to have to deal with the personal symbolism. And there are zayaacgh, who bring and bestow and take away luck, good and bad; and can curse, though they tend not to.”

Cherendai pointed at him.

 _“None of these,”_ she said. “Are _‘shamans’_. You are wrong, and you should make it right. You are unhappy about your child- distract yourself by fixing _this._ Use the proper words for things.” 

That’s what János ended up doing. It was a very long task, checking through all his papers and thinking about what papers what other people might have that would need fixing, and he didn’t get all of it done- but it didn’t really distract him a lot. Árpád was always at the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop comparing the things Cherendai had talked about to what they were able to do, or might be able to do.

It was going to be a very long period of years, waiting for Árpád to return. He might just have to quit the university and go on the next ship up _himself._ He could learn to do manual labor if it meant he could be with his child.

* * *

The farms were producing food without major incident, it looked like they would actually have a wheat crop at the end of the summer, the animals had taken fine to Theiostea, the salt farm had been set up in the smaller bay that turned into a saltwater lake when the tide went out, and the _Ludovico Manin_ had left for Earth; so there was time again to do non-essential exploration.

This time, Ivan went with Terenzia and Árpád, accompanied by a group of other Jäger, to the Ramman’s city. The buildings had been exactly as strange as had been described to him, and they were rather disquieting. Nothing new was found there; and eventually they moved through towards the road up to the top of the rise.

From where they’d been in the city, the approach was at a different angle than Terenzia and Árpád’s first expedition had been. They were coming along the bottom of the rise, from the ocean side of the road- and then, unexpectedly, they came around a jut of land to find a gaping hole in the rise.

There was an actual road here, going into the hole, with abandoned vehicles- carts? Trucks? They had wheels and a freight area- left at the side of it.

Ivan stared into the hole and frowned, then asked Hraudaz and some the other oreads to go in and investigate.

“It’s a mine,” was the report when they returned. He nodded to himself, not particularly surprised by this. Why else would you dig a hole into the ground like this? “This is actually the entrance for a series of mines- we found copper and iron, but there’s silver and gold and silicon too, further in. Past that the mines continued, but we didn’t go that far. The system goes out at least to hills, and probably further.”

“Computer components,” Terenzia said. “I bet that’s where they were getting the robot parts.”

They followed the road back into the city, since this was the best lead they’d had yet, and after some distance it ended in front of a building that looked like it might have _actually_ been in existence on Earth somewhere. There were large bay doors on the ground level, one pair standing half-open, and there were more of the vehicles sitting around outside of it. Some of them were clearly parked, but some of them looked like they’d been abandoned. Some of them were still full of ore from the mines.

“Iron,” Árpád pronounced of the one closest to the door, their hand hovering a few centimeters over it. “Do you think we could take it back with us, Marschall?”

“Perhaps,” Ivan said, and led the group into the building.

Immediately inside the doors was an area that looked a lot like a warehouse floor, with massive containers that reached almost up to the ceiling sitting up against the walls. They didn’t appear to have any ladders to any potential access hatches at the top- typical- but there were hatches only a little above ground level, at the top of ramps.

They knocked on the sides of the containers to gauge what might be inside them, but they didn’t get any echoes for their troubles. Ivan ordered everyone else to back some ways away, and forced the hatch open himself by standing off to the side of the ramp and pushing upwards until the door came loose, opening some ways. Ore cascaded out until gravity and momentum wasn’t enough to overcome the build-up of material and it stopped, piled around the ramp.

Ivan kicked his way out and picked up some of the ore to inspect it.

“Copper!” he called to the others. “I believe we have found the storage facility.”

This was good news- this was _wonderful_ news, part of the plan had been to scavenge materials from the ruins in the form of breaking down buildings, but that hadn’t been able to figure out how to do that yet; and the backup to _that_ had been to locating a suitable site for the smiths and miners and smelters that the _Ludovico Manin_ was going to bring when it came back. If they had a raw supply already stockpiled, then the couple of smiths that had come along as part of this first group could start guessing what they might need and they could send equipment and supply lists back to Earth ahead of schedule. 

While the group had moved off, Magda had discovered another set of doors. _These_ led to what was clearly a factory area, and Ivan took one look at the machinery and _smiled._

They might not have been _exactly_ what he was used to seeing on Earth, but they were still-

“Smelters!” he announced happily. “If they are clear, we may be able to use them.”

Hraudaz dismounted and pressed herself up against the nearest smelter, one ear to the metal, listening. While the others watched, mostly confused, she slid herself around the curve of the massive device, ear and body still the metal, until she reached the tap. There were clearly controls here, a panel of switches and buttons and sliding scales; and after looking at them intently for a few moments Hraudaz flipped a switch and slid one of the scales up only a few millimeters. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then a bright, glowing drop fell from the tap. She reached out her hand and caught it in her palm, and then the next, and the next, and the next, until she had a little pool there; then slid the scale back all the way down and flipped the switch off.

“Copper!” she said triumphantly. “They’re all still molten!”

The other oreads started chattering excitedly and dashed around to the other smelters like they were small children who had been promised presents, yelling:

“Iron!”

“Silver!”

“Gold!”

“Tin! Tin! We can make bronze-!”

_“Steel!”_

“Aluminum!”

Terenzia and Árpád followed them around with sticks of chalk out from their Witchbreaker kits and wrote out what was in the smelters on their outside.

This was- good. This would make things so much easier. They could take the smiths out here and they could cast the molten metals into ingots or rods, and then they could transport them back to Regina Caeli and use them for repairs and such- they had enough coal for _that_ , at least- and it could form the basis of their stockpile.

But the Ramman were supposed to have been gone for- well, he didn’t know how long, exactly, but for ages and ages, plenty long enough for the metal to have cooled and ruined the smelters. It perhaps wasn’t _completely_ out of the question that the Ramman had figured out a way to keep the smelters perpetually heated with some sort of constant energy source that didn’t need maintenance to keep up. But it still- felt wrong, like they’d walked into someone’s house to find that they’d just left and the dishes were freshly washed and drying on the rack to prove it.

 They kept finding and opening doors until it was time to head back so they wouldn’t be stuck in the city in the dark, and discovered rooms of stacked metal ingots, and boxes of rods in various sizes, and wires in a number of different calibers. They bundled up as much as they could, and that seemed useful, onto their horses with them.

One room they found disquieted them all. They’d opened it expecting more of the same, but instead they’d found what were clearly repair stations for the robots that had been found melted on the top of the rise. Here, there were parts on workbenches, or fully-assembled bodies stood against walls, or pulled apart and hanging on frames for inspection.

 _This_ room, more than anything, had the feeling of being completely abandoned- it was easy to picture people working here, as normal, but then dropping everything and just walking away, disappearing.

It wasn’t at all a comfortable thought.

* * *

The return of the _Ludovico Manin_ was a blessing in one way, and a disaster in others.

It was a blessing because the news the crew brought back with them was that the settlers had gotten to Theiostea perfectly safe and without incident, and had successfully managed to get their settlement physically set up and the first crops planted before they’d left.

It was a disaster because they’d brought back the mail, and János couldn’t bear to open the letter from Árpád. He was certain it would hurt too much.

So he grabbed Nico when _he_ came to get his mail, and invited him to lunch. They actually ended up going back to Nico’s house in Barrackstown and cooking lunch in his kitchen, the three envelopes from Árpád, Diana, and Terenzia sitting out on the living room table, where they couldn’t see them. Cooking lunch came with small talk and some business discussion, engaging enough to keep either of them from worrying _too_ much.

Food was a welcome distraction, also- but there was only so much of it, and eventually they couldn’t avoid the letters any longer.

János ended up on flopped on Nico’s couch, hands over his eyes and letter open on his stomach.

“I’m an emotional wreck, Nico,” he said. “I can’t do this. I can’t do it. I never _had_ this problem when Árpád was with _Mama_ , but I can’t- if something happens to them and I’m not _there._ If _this_ is what my parents felt like when they didn’t know how I was going to do in the hospital after the avalanche, I understand why they were so overprotective. When Árpád comes back, they are _not_ allowed to leave, ever again. I wish they’d stayed on _Mama_ ’s farm, with the horses. Horses are _safe._ ”

“I have wine,” Nico offered. “It’s midafternoon and we probably shouldn’t, but-”

“I don’t have to teach anything until five,” János told him. “I can be drunk for like, an hour. Tell me what you have.”

* * *

They had a celebration for their first full year on Theiostea. It had been in planning for a while, and some people had been saving things like chocolate and sugar and coffee and tea that they couldn’t make on Theiostea yet.

Emma knew that some people had been sitting on a few bottles of wine and beer- _she’d_ been one of the people hoarding some wine- and so when Marschall showed up with barrels and a self-satisfied smile, well.

“There is no need to look at me like that,” he informed her cheerfully. “I have brought vodka.”

“We didn’t bring that much vodka,” Unterführer Agresta said. “In fact, I didn’t think we’d brought _any_ vodka.”

“The Italians brought wine grapes,” Marschall Braginski said, setting up the first tap. “But they have not been planted yet and it will be some years after they are harvested and mashed before they will have local wine again. But _we_ have been growing potatoes. Vodka is potatoes. So- we have local, easy alcohol.”

“Some people don’t like vodka,” Kommandant Agresta told him.

“Nonsense,” he said, and handed her the first glass of it.

Emma had no idea if the Kommandant had drunk it, because she’d gotten the second glass of vodka, and toasted the Marschall with it.

After a certain point, the night turned into a blur of motion and fire- they’d lit a bonfire for the night, the same as they’d done for the second wedding- and the sound of Leutnant Héderváry’s violin. They might have been renewing the spells from the wedding, but likely people had just been singing. _That_ she remembered better than everything else, because the Thálassians had one of the Honalenier singing historians that were emphatically _not_ bards- like she’d ever been able to think of them as anything else- and she extemporized the story of their trip and the history of the settlement so far.

And the dancing, that was kind of clear. Well, no, that was a lie- she could remember the beat and tempo of the music, set by the violin and the spirited rhythmic clapping of the people who weren’t dancing, and she’d done at least one set with Elisea and Santo-

She had probably done terribly at the dancing, but she’d been out all night with the only breaks for water and more vodka shots, so people had clearly been willing to dance with her who weren’t her siblings. And singing? Singing might have happened, by her, but the dancing was clearer, because the feeling of that had gone straight into her lower brain functions, rather than language processes.

Anyway, _someone_ had been singing, because she remembered that as the overlay to the sun-glow of the bonfire in the dark of the night and pounding of feet and hands with her heart.

* * *

After the interview with the High Priestess, Odette took Nazario out regularly to different research opportunities, all of which he definitely wouldn’t have known about, or gotten access to, otherwise.

She arranged a meeting with her mother for him; and then her aunt, when _she_ came to visit. She came along with him on the trips to talk to huldrene, where he heard an awful lot more about the deterioration of sexual morals because human contraceptives meant you could have sex _without getting pregnant_ than he’d been expecting. She introduced him to the right people in Nysa to track down one of the few human Honalenier men of the Thálassians who left his seaside dwellings to conduct trade for the rest.

She took him to meet some of the freed human slaves in the Hills, on the estate that her mother owned. There was an entire town there, of humans who had been stolen or born into captivity under the Tylwyth.

“Jagdsprinz Erlkönig banned the stealing of humans, once he heard it was happening,” the town-chief, an older man named Bouderyn, told him, through Odette. She had to translate, because most of _these_ humans didn’t dare venture away from their homes. “It only started after that- we were told that there weren’t any humans before the Erlkönig. He decreed it illegal, under pain of death, as part of the Jagdsprinz’s Pact- but he wasn’t _here._ He was in the Jägerskov. The Tylwyth got away with it, mostly. Princess Odile was one of the lucky ones, since the one who paid a slaver to go grab her and her sister got caught.”

Bouderyn gestured around at the land the town was on.

“This is _his_ old estate. But humans still got stolen, and- well. Let’s just say that you won’t be hearing anyone praising Erlkönig around here. Begging your pardon, Lady von Rothbart, but your grandfather wasn’t very _committed_ to helping us.”

A woman named Breáedh laughed at them when they came to talk to her. She was sitting by the well, spinning some thread in the sun.

“Teufelmördor hasn’t done anything for us, either,” she told them. “Sure, the Hunt’s back. But all _they_ did was get quiet about it. The stealing got worse, when Erlkönig died- _everybody_ wanted human slaves, now that there wasn’t anyone to stop them. We _had_ been protected here, but Nicnevin turned Princess Odile into a swan and kept Prince Ly at Court, where he couldn’t be out here to supervise. They _say_ it was because she was so upset about Erlkönig- but the thing the nobles hated the most was that rule in the Pact about the slaves. There wasn’t anybody out here to protect us but our fey children, and any Tylwyth noble is better than _that._ We had children carried off from the fields and the merchants who came by to make a killing off the inflated prices they could charge us they wouldn’t _dare_ to try with anyone else made sure we could see their slaves, nice and prominent, to remind us what our place was. We had women raped in their houses- and they’ll do other things. Some Tylwyth snatched Temperance on the road when she was checking to see if the merchants were coming, stripped her, and chased her through the snow for hours. We found her frozen to death in the snow melt a couple of months later. Most of the people who disappear- Larkin, Florence, Charles, Collete- we never find out what happened to them. And _those_ four all went missing _after_ the demon was killed.”

  Odette tried to get her to talk more, at least that was what Nazario thought she was trying to do, since she started pleading in Tylwyth, but Breáedh had said all she was going to say.

“I didn’t know anything about this,” she told him, shaken, as they walked off. “Mother never- I’ve been here before, they’ve come _back here_ since Father went to rejoin the Hunt, but nobody _ever_ told us anything about this. If they had, Father and Mother would have told the Jagdsprinz, and _she_ hasn’t done anything in the Hills.”

“No, no,” a man named Hugh told them when Odette convinced him to talk. “I know how this works. They _told_ me when they stole me. Law says your King has to speak for you to Nicnevin or the Jagdsprinz. We haven’t _got_ a King.”

“That’s not at _all_ how it works,” Nazario said when Odette translated for him.

Hugh snorted when she repeated this for him, clearly not believing them, and told Odette something else before walking off.

“He said we should talk to Kundegith and Viskram,” she said. “At Diot Mawlswith’s place.”

It took a little bit of asking, but they found it eventually. It was a house not quite at the edge of town, but getting close to it.

Diot Mawlswith turned out to be one of the fey children- grown now, and in charge of what protection could be mustered for the town.

Kundegith and Viskram were brothers from “out Jägersway,” as Diot put it.

“That’s the humans who settled on the edge of Domdruharc,” Kundegith explained for them, in the Trade Creole. It was distinctly Rinnrdrusk accented. “Our mother escaped the Tylwyth and ended up there. The _Teilveider_ don’t _dare_ go near there- first with the demon, and then with Teufelmördor.”

“I know people in those settlements,” Odette told them. “Who’s your mother?”

“Melisendre,” Viskram told her.

“The town-chief?” she asked, surprised. “But I didn’t think she _had_ kids!”

“Well,” Viskram said to his brother, smiling widely. “Isn’t that _convenient,_ Gitz? We don’t exist!”

“It’s _almost_ like we planned it,” Kundegith agreed, face completely straight.

“Gitz and Viski are sneakers,” Diot told them. “If the Tylwyth don’t know that Melisendre has children- that they _exist_ \- then they can stay ghosts, helping people escape, and getting people from _here_ further into Honalee.”

“But _why,_ ” Odette said. “Haven’t you gone to the Jagdsprinz, or my parents-”

“We’d have to know names,” Kundegith said.

“Look, Princess,” Viskram told her. “Yeah, we’ve got things we go to them with- but _then_ what happens to the rest of us? You get a couple, and then the _Teilveider_ just know that someone’s turning them in. None of us would last a _week._ The _Teliveider_ don’t have any obligation to us, but we have one to each other, and they _know it._ They use it against us.”

“People have tried to go,” Diot said. “But they disappear on the way there, or die. The Jägersway people found someone who tried to go to the Jagdsprinz, from here, murdered on the edge of the Domdruharc. They didn’t report it because what good would it do? They didn’t know who did it, and once the Hunt started poking around, we’d all just be in _more_ danger. We don’t want to die.”

“ _You_ could have died,” Viskram said, looking at Nazario and Odette. “Rosaidis had to tail you. She didn’t come into town right after you, so there was some sort of trouble.”

“Trouble?” Nazario asked apprehensively.

Kundegith smiled and reached down to the top of one of his knee-height boots. He pulled up eleven inches of iron long knife.

“Oh God.”

“What?” Viskram asked, holding up his hands and waggling his fingers to show off the iron rings he wore on each finger. “You thought these were for decoration? You’ll take out more than teeth when you get a _Teilveider_ in the face with _these_.”

There was knocking on the door, in a distinct pattern.

“ _There_ she is,” Diot said, and went to unlock the door. The woman who walked in was tall enough that the door was almost too short to let her in without bending over, and her sleeves were a little damp, like she’d washed up and put on new clothes without quite drying off all the way.

“ _Ame_ ,” she said to the brothers, holding up three fingers. “Might have been another one, I’m not sure.”

They looked at each other.

“Better accompany you back to the Domdruc, then,” Viskram told Odette and Nazario. “Usually don’t get that many.”

Odette looked a little dumbstruck.

“I-!” she tried to protest.

“You’re fey, Lady von Rothbart,” Rosaidis told her. “It doesn’t matter who your father is- to a lot of people, you don’t count. They can’t touch you around the Hunt, or at your grandmother’s Court, or when your father is around; but you’re out here with a human man and you’ve been talking to townsfolk all day. They know perfectly well how close you are to the Jagdsprinz; and so long as they hire bullyboys to take you out, and they never tell anyone who they are, it’d take Teufelmördor really _looking_ at them to figure out who else was to blame for your murders. And there’s plenty of ways to avoid seeing the Jagdsprinz.”

“They’re experts at this,” Kundegith said somberly. “Anyone who does serious crime in Honalee is. That’s why we still _have_ crime.”

“I really wish you would have told someone you were planning on coming out here, Lady,” Viskram added. “We could have found a way to stop you.”

There was an entire shadow war being fought out here, Nazario thought a little hysterically. And they’d walked right into it.

He and Odette had gotten back on their horses, and Rosaidis was about to get on hers, when there was a yell from further inside the town.

_“Wait, wait!”_

Nazario saw the brothers and Rosaidis stiffen for a moment at the noise, then relax, with more than a hint of resignation.

“Constance-” Rosaidis tried to say to the- well, maybe she wasn’t a young _woman_ just yet. To Nazario, she looked of the age of his first-year university students.

Constance grabbed Odette’s shoe and for a moment Nazario thought that she might actually go down on her knees.

“Please, please, Lady von Rothbart,” she begged, and- wait, that was basically modern French, where had she found someone to teach her _that?_ No one had said anything about leaving the town just to come _back_ ; and if she’d learned French, why hadn’t she stayed in Martigny, or Nysa? “Please, my name is Constance Seyrès, they’ve been saying that Earth is open-”

 _“Constance,”_ Rosaidis said, more firmly. “It’s too-”

“It’s _home,_ ” she cut her off. “I’m from _Tourcoing,_ I’m _French-_ it was 1849 when they took me everyone else has forgotten but I still _remember_ where I’m from _please-_ ”

“It’s 2106 now,” Odette said after a moment.

“I don’t care,” Constance told her. “It’s home. I want to go back before I _forget,_ like everyone else. When I found out people forget I told myself, every day- _‘Constance Seyrès, Tourcoing, France, 17 July 1849, age fourteen’_.”

Kundegith was going to say something, but Odette- he wasn’t going to call it _‘haughty’_ , because this was something _Avus_ did sometimes when he talked about Scripture, it was putting on your authority- _looked_ at him and said: “Help her up behind Nazario.”

“She’s the last human we know who got stolen and escaped,” he said. “She still thinks she can get ba-”

“She is _going_ to get back,” Odette told him. “Help her up.”

“Lady von Rothbart,” Rosaidis said. “They’ll _know_ what you’ve been doing here if you take her with you. We can’t hide her-”

 _“I can,”_ she said. “I know things they don’t. _Help her up._ ”

Constance was helped up behind Nazario, and Odette ordered her to hug him from behind and not let go or talk until she was told to, then put a glamour on them both. Nazario didn’t feel any different, but apparently it passed satisfaction for the others, because they left immediately afterwards.

The journey back to the Jägerskov was nerve-wracking. From the way their escorts had been talking, Nazario was expecting to be jumped at any moment- and it didn’t help that the brothers and Rosaidis had disappeared immediately after they’d left the boundaries of the town.

But when they passed over the border of the Silent Hills and the Jägerskov, on the road from Finias to Nysa, they reappeared.

“Nothing,” Viskram said. “But keep the glamor on, Lady von Rothbart, just in case.”

Going through Nysa wasn’t any trouble, and Odette smiled at some of the Jäger she knew and they waved back. They had gone up the side of the canyon and most of the way down the Huntsroad to the Jägerskov before Odette had them pull of the road behind a screen of trees and stop.

“We shouldn’t try to cross over with the glamor on,” she said, reaching out to dismiss it. “That could get very awkward, and we’re not trying to do anything illegal.”

Something rammed Nazario’s horse over as soon as the glamor came down, making Odette’s horse rear. Constance screamed as they went down, and Nazario probably screamed as well but he was very distracted by _the horse that landed on his leg._ He didn’t hear anything crack and he couldn’t feel anything break- well, he couldn’t feel anything at _all_ in his leg and he wasn’t certain that was a good sign- and after a couple moments of shock he saw Kundegith crouched down with his knife out, trying to corner a man against a tree. Viskram and Rosaidis were doing their best to hem him in; but he feinted one way and then dove the opposite to shove between Viskram and Kundegith.

Odette kicked him in the head as he went by her and he fell to the ground; and then the Jäger, who had been stationed at the processing checkpoint by the Jagdshall, came up to investigate Constance’s screaming.

* * *

Ivan was there to meet the _Ludovico Manin_ on her return from Earth. Partially this was to greet the smiths and the miners and the smelters and the extra agricultural workers who were on board, and to confirm and double-check the inventory of supplies with the captain and crew; but it was also because he wanted to deliver the mail himself.

It was good news- they managed to _not_ kill themselves, they’d managed a food surplus, the settlement area was exactly what the Pict had promised, the fortuitous windfall of molten and finished metal they already had, the complete lack of Ramman- and Ivan was, some days, still trying to convince himself that things were going well.

Things just didn’t- they didn’t _go_ this well for him. He was starting to think that Árpád and the zayaacgh’s magic the night of the second wedding had taken hold even stronger than anyone had anticipated; a fact which he’d hesitantly included at the end of his official report to the Jagdsprinz.

The supplies were off-loaded with little fuss, though they needed more storage space for it all, and _quickly_ ; but that could be taken care of as soon as the new drop ships were broken down and the miners and smelters taken out to the city to see what they’d be working with, at least initially.

* * *

The Jäger who had come immediately took the man into custody and got Nazario some medical attention. Odette had dismounted and was still trying to breathe evenly when EMTs came to secure his leg and take him off to the hospital.

“No, sir,” one of them was telling him. “You’ve definitely been hurt. Sometimes the brain just takes a little bit to decide that pain is an appropriate response, or you might be suppressing it, or you might have hit your head when you fell. We won’t know until we get you to the hospital.”

The Kommandant who was in charge of the checkpoint asked them all for their names. Kundegith, Viskram, and Rosaidis gave surnames, reluctantly; they might not have had nay faith in the ability of the Hunt to truly help them, but they knew better than to lie.

The man who’d attacked them wouldn’t give a name when the Jäger asked.

“ _I_ know who that is,” Rosaidis told the Jäger. “That’s Bluebeard. Reynard Fox. The _slaver._ ”

Odette had been thinking, given the way the man had shaved his beard and the blue in it, that he was some Tylwyth noble she didn’t know. But this-

“Lady Odette von Rothbart ap Ly of the Tylwyth Teg,” she told the Kommandant, whose expression revealed that he’d just significantly upgraded this situation on his scale of _‘major problems’_. “The man the EMTs took was Dr. Nazario Miccichelo from Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein, and this is Constance Seyrès. We need- no. I _demand_ to see the Jagdsprinz.”

The Kommandant had no problems hustling them into the Jagdshall and up to the Court Gallery, and then promising them that the Jagdsprinz would be there just as soon as she could be found; Lady von Rothbart do you want me to send someone for your parents-

“No,” she told him. “Thank you.”

He left to take back his station, and the Jäger who’d come to them on the road were replaced by Leutnant Cauac and some of his Jäger in the Hall Guard.

“You said you had names?” Odette asked her companions quietly, pulling out her phone. “When the Jagdsprinz comes, tell her them.”

“We told you already why that-”

“Do you not see all this?” she asked as she sent _‘Court Gallery, now’_ to Lana. “This is not my grandfather’s Hunt. He had 300, maybe 400, Jäger- the last statistic I saw for Teufelmördor’s Hunt was something like _14,500._ Some of them are on Theiostea. Some of them are doing administrative work in the Departments. Some of them are stationed in Ordon Khot or Rome or Venice- Leutnant Cauac, do you know how many Regiment Jäger stationed here?”

“Hm,” he said, and started counting, using his fingers to keep track. “We’ve got 1st, 4th, 11th, 15th, and 16th Dragoner; so that’s 1,500 with five officers. 1st, 2nd, 5th, 6th-”

He frowned trying to remember.

“15th, 16th, and 17th,” an Offizier provided.

“Thank you- Husar; 2,800 with seven officers. 1st, 3rd, and 13th Reiter makes 600 with three officers; and then there’s Leutnant Ruăn and the Jagdsprinz. So that’s-”

Cauac took a moment to add everything up.

“4,916 Jäger stationed here who are _only_ Dragoner, Husar, or Reiter; or in charge of them. They’re not all available at any given time because they’re not on shift or they’re detailed to a job in Martigny or Nysa or in the other towns around, or on rotation around the local markets in the Hills and Chicomoztoc and Kūnlún and Buyan-”

“But even if the Jagdsprinz only called _half_ of the Husar stationed here,” Odette told the brothers and Rosaidis. “That’s 1,400 mounted Jäger. That’s plenty for a protection detail for the estate _and_ the edge settlements _and_ to go after people.”

Cauac raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question, but Lana had messaged her back.

_‘Why?’_

_‘Testimony,’_ she told the woman, and told Cauac that everything would be explained once people had come.

Lana arrived at the group only seconds before the Jagdsprinz did, and she stopped dead when she saw who was there. If the two hadn’t been arriving from opposite ends of the Court Gallery, there would have been a collision.

“So _what-_ ” the Jagdsprinz started to say.

 _“Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor,”_ Lana interrupted, furious, pointing at Reynard Fox. “I name this-”

Her face screwed up in distaste as she looked at him. 

 _“-man,”_ she ended up saying. “A stalker, a rapist, a harasser, and a kidnapper; and I _demand_ justice for myself and my mother by your authority!”  

“There’s also,” Odette put in. “Very recently a charge of assault; and I’m told he’s also engaged in human trafficking.”

The Jagdsprinz looked over at him and her eyes narrowed. He flinched back.

“Who _is_ this?” she asked.

 _“Reynard Fox,”_ Lana spat.

“He’s Tylwyth, Jagdsprinz,” Rosaidis said, a bit anxiously. “We- ah, the humans in the Hills, and their descendants- we know him as Bluebeard, also.”

“He took a _human_ name because he thought it was _funny,_ ” Viskram said. “Since he _steals_ and _attacks_ us for a living. The _Teilveider_ blue in his beard is the first thing many humans saw of Honalee, after he dropped his illusions and revealed himself for what he _truly_ is.”

“And _you_ are?” the Jagdsprinz asked him.

Viskram gave his name, a little hesitantly; and then his mother and her position and his home settlement and his job. Then Kundegith was made to introduce himself; and Rosaidis the same; and then Constance-

The Jagdsprinz was _not_ happy- but Odette did manage to get her to stay around long enough to listen to an abbreviated version of the story of how she and Nazario had gone to her mother’s estate and what they’d learned there, and what had happened to them after, before she started yelling at people.

* * *

Constance Seyrès had been stolen out of a crowd in Tourcoing on the French border with Belgium two hundred and fifty-seven years ago and had only once again set foot on Earth maybe all of an hour ago; but it took until she saw Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor summon Prince Ly and Princesses Zvezda and Zorya Kascheiyivna to her presence and scream at them while they tripped over their own words trying to explain why nothing had been done about the human slave trade that she thought something might be done about the _others._ The dressing-down wasn’t in Tylwyth or the Trade Creole or French, so she had no idea what was being said, but it was satisfying all the same.

The Jagdsprinz snapped something at the Honalenier royalty and they scurried off to obey whatever orders they’d been given, and she started to pay attention to the rest of them again.

“Odette, go to the hospital and see how Nazario is doing,” she ordered, and Lady von Rothbart left.

“I’m going to _do_ something about this,” she said to the rest of them. “And I’m going to do it _now_ since you said that Reynard Fox probably has someone who’s waiting for him to report back. I’ve got Jäger mustering. There will be guards on the estate and the border settlements, most of the rest will go out with Zauber and the Hounds to the names and places _you_ have to deal with them there, and a smaller group will go to Court to keep the nobles who are there _there_ , for me to inspect later. Do you want to come?”

“Not to Court, please, Jagdsprinz,” Rosaidis said. “I would come with the Hunt around the Hills, if you would allow it.”

“You’re going to need someone people trust at the settlements,” Kundegith said grudgingly. “Viskram and I can split between those two groups. And if you can’t hold them, we know where people can hide, or escape routes.”

“We _will_ hold,” the Jagdsprinz said. “I’d like someone to go to Court.”

The three of them looked at each other, and then over at _her._

“Constance should go,” Viskram said. “ _She_ hasn’t been killing people.”

The Jagdsprinz looked at her and Constance’s mouth went dry.

“Do you _want_ to go?” she asked, unexpectedly.

“I-” Constance said faintly. She _didn’t_ want to go, she’d only _just_ gotten to Earth she didn’t want to turn around and go _back_ to the Hills- but it was the Jagdsprinz asking, and if she didn’t go along maybe she wouldn’t get help later that’s how things _worked,_ a favor for a favor, things in fair trade, duties paid for services rendered, and it was the _Jagdsprinz_ who oversaw that. “Who else would be going?”

  Constance hadn’t ever thought that the Jagdsprinz would look softly or kindly at people- the Jagdsprinz was vengeance and justice, after all, blood and death and the terror of cold rage Hunting you from the shadows- but she did at her, like she knew that Constance was afraid and didn’t want her to be.

“It will be Lord Hiruz in charge,” she said. “Who was Knight-Protector of the Jägerskov for the Domdruc when Mephistopheles lived here. He’ll have some Reiter with him- heavy cavalry, like knights, under the command of one of my people as King of the Jägerskov, Siegrike. Ly Erg and his wife will be there, and if High Priestess Jehanne from Lanka Kubera agrees to go, then it will be her as well- do you know her?”

“I’m Christian,” Constance informed her.

“And I’m sending _Razanás_ Liechtenstein,” the Jagdsprinz finished. “Do you know Liechtenstein?”

Constance shook her head.

“It’s a small German state-”

Oh, one of _those._

“-and I rule a joint monarchy with her. You’d be along with _her,_ specifically. You don’t have to do anything- I just want a witness.”

 As long as she didn’t have to talk to anyone and could just stay with the Jäger, then maybe that would be okay. She told the Jagdsprinz so, and then things started moving. The brothers and Rosaidis were sent out to go meet up with the Jäger, and the Jagdsprinz told Leutnant Cauac to keep Reynard Fox in custody for her _‘for later’_ , and the Jagdsprinz took her _personally_ up the stairs at the end of the room with what had to have been the demon’s wings hanging on them to her rooms.

There was a blonde woman waiting for them there, her hair cut short and wearing something that was probably formal.

“Liesl, this is Constance Seyrès,” she told the woman. “She got stolen out of Honalee from France in the mid-1800s and this is her first time back to Earth. She’s going to be going to Nicnevin’s Court with you and the others, so do you think you could get her dressed up? I’m hoping we’ll only take about an hour to get everything together.”

“I can manage that in an hour,” Liesl said, and the Jagdsprinz told Constance to go with her and left.

Constance had thought that she’d be led to another room, but instead Liesl smiled, grabbed her hand, and then they were suddenly somewhere completely different- a bedroom.

“What-” she started to say as Liesl gently pushed her towards the bed. “You’re a _sorcerer._ ”

“No,” Liesl said, smiling, and opened a door to a room with all sorts of clothes stored in it. “I’m a King, Ms. Seyrès- Liechtenstein.”

Oh- oh dear.

“I- I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Your Highness-”

“You’re about my size,” _Razanás_ Liechtenstein said, politely ignoring her apology by handing her a dress. “Try this on.”

It took a few tries to get her into something that _Razanás_ Liechtenstein approved of, and then she had her sit down in front of a mirror.

“It’s not exactly Tylwyth blue,” she told Constance, strangely sounding a little apologetic as she selected some jewelry- a necklace and some clips to do something with her hair. “But unless I’m very mistaken, you don’t put a slave in those colors.”

“You don’t,” Constance confirmed quietly as she watched the King twist her hair and some ribbons in different shades of blue into a style she’d never seen done before and fasten it with the clips.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, and added a little makeup to Constance’s face.

After that, there was a short wait while she picked out her own outfit- maybe it wasn’t so much _‘pick out’_ , though, as _‘retrieve’_ , because it was obviously a bespoke piece, elegant and expensive enough to be meant for Court. The underdress was pale gold with dove grey Jägerskovsk lace, and the overdress was black with red embroidery. The style of it reminded Constance of the Jäger’s uniforms she’d seen, the black coats closed to the waist and then open to the knees; except the overdress was floor-length to the point of having a train, the standing collar of the overdress was shorter and looser, the sleeves were wide and open from wrist to elbow, and it had bits of incredibly soft-looking fur at some of the seams and lining the inside, the gray-silver-black of a wolf’s coat.

It was definitely Court dress, Constance decided, after _Razanás_ Liechtenstein took out her jewelry. It was a matched set- _crown_ jewels, with a kokoshnik tiara and more gold with diamonds and rubies to go with it. She was very royal- very _Hunt_ royal- by the time she’d gotten everything on and arranged.

Then it was back to the Huntsroad, at the end this time, by the World Gate, to meet up with the escort. The Jäger had assembled already, spreading out along the road and the cliff-top and the plains of Lintukoto below, temporarily blocking traffic. The space around the Tree and the Well was clear, and Constance just stood there and stared out over Lintukoto to Chicomoztoc and the mountains of Kūnlún beyond. She’d hoped of escaping the Hills, one day; but she’d thought _this_ would be her sight of freedom, not the Jagdshall.

The Jagdsprinz was right by the tree, all in her armor and on her horse, standing next to a great elk, and woman in the red and blue of the Tuadei clergy on her own horse on her left, who must have been the High Priestess the Jagdsprinz had mentioned before. The rest of their escort ready and waiting for them- even Princess Odile in the Tylwyth Court dress and architectural hair style. She followed _Razanás_ Liechtenstein, her train drawn up over one arm, to the front of the group and the elk and the Jagdsprinz.

“The groups to the estate and the settlements go out immediately after you,” the Jagdsprinz told _Razanás_ Liechtenstein. “Then I’m taking the rest out into the Hills. Siegrike’s people are going to lock down the Court, and then I’ll come to clean it out once I’m finished everywhere else. I’m not _planning_ on it being a Hunt, officially-”

“-but you’d like me to imply that it _could_ become one, at any time,” _Razanás_ Liechtenstein finished for her. “I’ve been doing this longer than you have, Nia- I know how to intimidate people just as well.”

When they stepped through the Gate to the Court of the Tylwyth Teg, the man on guard nearly dropped his spear in shock.

“We’re here under the authority of the Jagdsprinz,” Prince Ly Erg told him. “Show the Jäger to the other Court posts. You’re all relieved.

“Announce us,” _Razanás_ Liechtenstein commanded, dropping her train to the floor now that they were inside. Constance straightened it for her, and noted that the High Priestess hadn’t come along, like the Jagdsprinz had thought she would, even though she’d been on the cliff. Likely she was going to the settlements, instead.

The guard gaped at her a moment and then ducked through the doors to the Court room. The surprised spike of noise from within at his sudden appearance stopped the moment he banged the butt of his spear on the floor for silence.

“Her Highness and Excellency Princess Liesl Hohenheim Zürcher, Principality of Liechtenstein,” he announced. “And Marschall Lord Hiruz of the Wild Hunt and the Irvinrkallrene, Knight-Protector of the Jägerskov; for Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor.”

 _Razanás_ Liechtenstein placed a hand on Lord Hiruz’s shoulder and they swept into the Court room together. Constance, a little uncertainly, followed just behind them. The Jagdsprinz _had_ told her she’d be staying with _Razanás_ Liechtenstein, after all.

The guard might have fumbled his mental script at her appearance, because it took him a moment longer to announce: “Kommandant Prince Ly Erg ap Gwyn of the Wild Hunt and the Tylwyth Teg, and his wife Princess Odile von Rothbart, Lady of Graig Bryn Du.”

Constance wasn’t used to the feeling of Tylwyth paying _attention_ to her, even when she knew that the looks were for _Razanás_ Liechtenstein and Lord Hiruz, who had shown up so suddenly; and the bows and curtseys were for the Prince and Princess, behind her.

“The Jagdsprinz is displeased with your nobles, Queen Nicnevin,” _Razanás_ Liechtenstein said loudly enough for the whole room to hear once she and Lord Hiruz were within speaking distance of the throne. “There are Jäger in the Hills, now, to rectify this.”

“It’s the human slaves, Mother,” Prince Ly Erg told her, sounding a bit ashamed. Constance was fiercely happy about that. “They haven’t all been released.”

“I received reports from my tenants,” Princess Odile said, the edge of an offended Tylwyth noble in her voice. “They say that they are _harassed-_ dealt unfairly with in business, taunted, molested, raped and killed and recaptured- there are supposed to be _no_ human slaves in Honalee; and the humans _especially_ on my estate protected! That was the agreement- that was the _promise,_ and so the Jagdsprinz comes with the Hunt to enforce her Pact.”

There was an uneasy ripple of noise through the other Tylwyth nobles, and Constance watched as Princess Odile turned gracefully around to look at them, picking out a few for particular looks.

“The Court has been sealed,” Lord Hiruz rumbled. “On orders of the Jagdsprinz. She will come once her business on the estates and in the towns has concluded, enforcing the laws on slavery and meting justice on those whom it should rightly fall.”

“The Court will be searched,” Princess Odile announced, with heavy finality, and took the lesser throne at Queen Nicnevin’s left hand that had stood waiting for her since the return of the Hunt.

Her husband took his seat on his mother’s other side with much more discomfort, and a seat was brought for _Razanás_ Liechtenstein, who commanded one for Constance, as well. She was a little nervous sitting down, given that this was a room full of Tylwyth nobles who had just been informed that they were going to be subject to the judgement of the Jagdsprinz very, very soon- the group was getting agitated, the powerful ones with money and influence enough that they had flaunted the law wondering just how _much_ sin would be found on them but unable to leave. The Reiter, in their black partial-plate with their guns and their blades, had taken up the stations of the Tylwyth guards. Some of them were human, some of them were Honalenier- but it wasn’t easy to tell which, with most of them, and there were Hunt sorcerers along, besides.

If they tried to do anything, the Reiter and sorcerers could be on them immediately- or Lord Hiruz, or _Razanás_ Liechtenstein, or their own Prince or Queen, obligated by law and appearances and honor to take care of them themselves, rather than leave them for someone else to extract punishment on.

Behind the agitation of the powerful nobles was the anxiety of the middling nobles and the clients of the powerful, who had attached themselves to someone higher in the hopes of advancement, or favors, or the chance to get their own power. _They_ had no idea what would become of them if- no, Constance knew the powerful nobles, _when_ they fell to the Hunt; or if they would be complicit by association. The only ones who _didn’t_ seem upset were the minor and lesser nobility, who had never had enough money or interest in the human slave trade to have participated in it. Many of these, seeking safer climes or the political expediency of publically associating themselves with the Hunt and a Queen who was likely about to be rid of most of her detractors, drifted towards the front of the room and the throne.

It was a tense wait, with everyone _knowing_ they were about to see an overturn of the power structure and could do nothing about it, and Constance was glad she was doing it from behind Lord Hiruz. Her heart spent the entire time in her throat.

The anxiety was worth it, though, to see the Jagdsprinz come striding in some time later, dragging Reynard Fox and trailed by the High Priestess and an assortment of Jäger, sharp-eyed and ready for blood.

Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor forced Reynard Fox to kneel on the floor of the Court room, up near the throne where everyone could see him, and beheaded him. His blood marked the multicolored, decorative tile floor; and she presented the slaver’s head to the High Priestess.

“Will this be proof enough for your people?” was what she asked the woman.

The High Priestess looked at the headless body of the dead Tylwyth slaver and then nodded, solemnly. A box was brought, and the head placed within, so she could take it back to Lanka Kubera and the Steppe settlements.

The Jagdsprinz looked out over the crowd of nobles, expression cold, calculating- she was picking out _exactly_ who would die, and the nobles quailed under her gaze.

“Watch, Jehanne daughter of Yuliuz,” she told the High Priestess as she adjusted her grip on her sword. “Watch so that you can describe the faces and give the names of those who pay for their crimes today when you return to your people, so they may have some closure.”

If a true Hunt was half as bloody as what happened next, then the Hunt’s reputation- and Teufelmördor’s name- was well-deserved.

It was vengeance that had gotten them their new Jagdsprinz and their new Hunt, after all. Somehow, Constance thought, Honalee had forgotten- or never truly grasped- that very important fact.

Erlkönig had been calm and collected- _sorrowful,_ even- in the stories told about his justice; including Ahes and Kêr-Is, when he was bitter and betrayed.

Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor, if faced with a Kêr-Is of her own, would find joy in the rage and the slaughter.

* * *

The smelters and miners had been introduced to their new working area a couple of days ago, and Terenzia and Árpád were part of the initial guard group sent to supervise them for these first weeks. Nobody really thought they _needed_ a guard- the last year had been very quiet and peaceful, boring, really- but it was in the regulations that anyone going beyond Regina Caeli needed a guard detail, and they were Marschall Braginski’s regulations.

He was here, too, in the city below. Terenzia and Árpád had ridden back up the road to the top of the rise to check the accuracy of the maps that had been tentatively drawn of the city and the mining area as well they could.

They’d confirmed the mining area was correct in placement and detail, if maybe not scale and proportion, when Terenzia caught something out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head slightly to see if she could get it again.

Árpád missed the initial movement because they were busy correcting the scale and proportion of the mine and its compound of buildings; but when their wife turned almost completely around in her saddle, it was hard to miss.

“Terenzia?” they asked. She couldn’t see them in her field of vision, because she refused to look away, but they sounded too unconcerned to have taken a look as well. “Did you see something?”

“Árpád,” she said, trying to remain calm and neutral. “Turn around for a second.”

She could tell when they did because they stiffened just a little at the sight of the glowing light in the trees.

“That’s not us, is it?” they asked quietly.

“The only mist spirits are in the Hunt,” Terenzia reminded them, still staring at the light in case it moved, or went away. “And none of them came with us; and there’s no reason for them to be making foxfire up here.”

She heard her spouse start singing quietly under their breath, presumably to see what would happen to the yellow-white, sparkly light.

Nothing- no dimming, no pulsing, no movement.

“Magic,” she heard Árpád mutter. “Same feel, same color- but that’s when it’s in _solid_ form; light is yellow-green-”

“Why don’t you go get Marschall Braginski?” she suggested quietly, putting an edge of urgency into it.

Árpád edged István away, and then she heard the noise of galloping hooves as they reached the road and started to run.

She was left staring at the light for some minutes before Árpád came back with Marschall Braginski, and Emma.

“Anything new, Kommandant?” Marschall Braginski demanded. Emma entered into her field of vision, venturing forward towards the light a few more slow horse-steps than she’d dared to try.

“Nothing,” she told him. “It’s still just sitting the-”

* * *

Zell died in the first days of September 2106. Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein shut down for the day of the funeral, along with most of the local government. It was a side effect of Nia, quite rightly, taking some days off to deal with her grief.

Well- from what _János_ had heard, the Jagdsprinz might actually have been fundamentally incapable of managing that, but he extended his condolences to her, and then to Émilie and her wife and family, and then Marlies and Philipp Beilschmidt and Princess Chénguāng when they arrived from Kūnlún.

He’d almost wanted to ask, when Heinrich and Adriana came in, how Venice was going to be handled. The idea that he’d be excluded from his own daughter’s funeral, just because it was being held in Martigny, seemed unspeakably cruel.

Unfortunately, from the history of that part of his family, he thought that might have been exactly what was going on.

János didn’t stick around to find out, though, because-

Pavel and Rémy had already died, some years earlier. They had been the first, and it had been strange, but- he hadn’t _known_ them.

He _knew_ Zell.

He’d _known,_ near the end, that she was going to be going- they’d _all_ known. But, it just-

János knew he wasn’t going to die. Not without a lot of effort, at least, and he couldn’t think of a reason why he’d ever be in something bad enough that it would _actually kill him._

But- Zell had just-

She’d just died.

So the day of the funeral, János left Martigny. He’d started the day thinking that he’d just stay in; but then he’d started thinking on mortality and danger and then of course it was _Árpád_ and this was honestly _ridiculous_ ; he checked the charm they’d given him at least once a day, usually more than once a day, _just_ to make sure- _and_ he _had_ another child-

He’d left his apartment with the plan to go talk to Csaba, like they hadn’t talked in a couple of years now; Csaba and anyone else on the board who was in the Berlin office.

But-

He’d gotten to Berlin and looked up at the HabéTech building and he could see things that were different. The receptionists in the main lobby, for one, that he could see through the glass.

It struck him then that he hadn’t had anything to do with HabéTech for three years, and hadn’t really seen anyone he’d known in that same time. He’d let the university eat up all his time; and then distracting himself from Árpád didn’t really lend itself to visiting other family.

People could age a lot in three years.

He didn’t want to go see any of them, any longer. Irrationally, as he started to walk away, a little too quickly and forcefully down the street, catalogue every single thing he could remember differently about the city, he wanted to remember Csaba and Akana and his granddaughter, and Øystein and Ásdís and Tomoko, as he’d last seen them.

He didn’t want to see how time had caught up to them, just a little bit more.

János knew he couldn’t handle that.

 _Theiostea,_ he promised himself. _Theiostea, or Honalee, or Mama’s horse farm; after this year. Until everyone else has finished- dying. Then I can come back, and maybe it won’t hurt like this._

* * *

Diana’s report to go back with the _Ludovico Manin,_ when it returned to Regina Caeli for the second time, about two years into the existence of the settlement, was short and terse. It contained news about the agricultural production and the salt farms- still going swimmingly- and the stockpile of raw material they’d managed to amass. It wasn’t enough yet to really have an industrial base, she wrote, because most of it was still scavenged material and they were having minor mining difficulties, thankfully nothing that had been fatal, but it just wasn’t good enough yet. The settlement itself had managed to avoid any real social problems, and there had been a number of new babies born, and a few marriages.

Enclosed in the official envelop for the report was a bit of portable digital storage, because the rest of what she had to say could not be properly conveyed on mere paper.

 ** _“NIA!”_** she’d screamed at the computer after she’d locked the front door of her house, and closed her office door for good measure. _“They are **gone! Terenzia-!** I am in **charge** now,_ because _**three days**_ after _Ludovico Manin_ left last _**Ivan DISAPPEARED!**_ He was- he- _Terenzia_ was **_with him,_** Nia; the people who were out at the city with them said that Árpád came down off the rise because they’d _found_ something up there, and they and Ivan and _Emma Miccichelo_ went back _up_ to the top of the rise and _we **never** saw them **AGAIN!** A **year;** it’s been an **entire YEAR,**_ and- _God,_ it’s been a **_year-_** ”

* * *

Ivan had no memory of passing out. One moment he had been on the rise, looking at the light. His next memory was waking up in a bed, laid out on top of the sheets, with Emma Miccichelo leaning over him in half a panic, scared he wasn’t going to wake up.

He’d reached up to press his hand against her cheek and ordered her to calm down, mirroring it with a reach through the citizen bond to reinforce his words. She relaxed enough for it to be visible, and then he’d gotten up and explored the area they were in.

They’d been locked into a suite of rooms- one with enough beds for each of them; a bathroom with a tub, toilet, and sink; and an outer room with a table and some chairs and the locked door that was clearly the only way out. Light came from an apparently sorceless illumination that never changed in intensity. It was constantly bright enough to see by, but dim enough that you could fall asleep if you pulled the covers up over your head.

Árpád and Terenzia had already been up when Ivan had first gotten to the room with the locked door. They were sitting in the chairs, Árpád tapping a rhythm out on the tabletop with one hand and Terenzia holding the other in both of hers.

The locked door had no knob or visible lock- it being locked was more an assumption than a statement of fact, though it didn’t make any difference to them either way. They couldn’t open it.

“Árpád tried to magic it already,” Terenzia had said quietly when Ivan pressed the crown of his head against the door, hands flat against the cool material of it, as he tried to clamp down on the shaky feeling building up in his chest. “Me too. Nothing.”

They had been captured, Ivan knew. This wasn’t the worst treatment by far that they could have gotten, but that didn’t mean shit about what might happen later. Creating a sense of security, hope, or trust, just to break it, was a good way to wear people down. He took the time to check every room very, very thoroughly for anything that seemed like a spying device so he’d have space to think without worrying the humans he was responsible for.

The set of unwritten rules about what Nations did when their people were prisoners of war wasn’t something that was talked about, ever, unless you had another Nation to pass it onto, because it was nothing humans would ever want to hear.

You didn’t try to save your people, soldiers or civilians, when they got captured. You didn’t lead escapes, and you didn’t try to get them out of torture. You could never save them all, and saving only some of them was a sure way to feel worse than just leaving them, because then the guilt of having _chosen_ who escaped and who didn’t would eat you worse than the guilt of doing nothing at all. If you happened to get taken prisoner, it was good manners to simply step out, quietly and without fuss, without notice; and let any Nations that your side happened to capture do the same.

Beyond the guilt, there was the problem of escalation- if _you_ started breaking out your people en masse, what was stopping everyone _else_ from trying to do it? And then what would stop _you_ from increasing the guards on your camps, and potentially killing more prisoners than you otherwise would if they tried to escape; and then it was a reason for the _other_ side to kill prisoners they’d taken from _you_ who wouldn’t have otherwise died.

In fact, if you knew that their Nation was just going to come along to bust them out anyway, then what was the _point_ of taking prisoners of war? Of accepting surrender? You would save yourself time, and supplies, and effort, and _lives-_ the lives of your _own_ people-by just killing every enemy you came across.

People still died, because that was the nature of war; and people still got tortured and beaten and broken and maybe, if they managed to live through it, sent home with a headful of trauma, because that was the nature of humans in war.     

But you didn’t do anything about it. If you happened to get captured, and didn’t step out- if you chose to stay with your soldiers or your civilians, to look out for _these_ of your children in particular, no one would stop you. There was little enough good in war, and sometimes- especially if it was truly just a _prisoner_ camp, without torture for interrogation or fun- being that person who was there for the others, to sit with them and stay with them and share food with them and speak about home with them, was the best thing you _could_ do.

Nations understood caring for their people.

And so Ivan checked for surveillance devices, and found nothing that seemed of the sort, or even out of place; and refused to let himself sleep the first time that the others did, staying up to keep watch. There were too many things that could happen- filling the rooms with gas, for one, so that they could be separated for torture elsewhere; or their captors bursting in on them while they slept to take advantage of their disorientation and disorganization to do what they wanted.

He went over every possibility of what could happen to them in these rooms in his head.

Turning the lights up blinding; or shutting them off completely to leave them in total darkness.

Piping in loud, discordant sounds, like alarm tones, to prevent them from sleeping, or thinking, or focusing anything on the barrage of ear-damaging auditory assault.

Changing the temperature so that it was freezing, or boiling.

Denying them food.

Giving them food; but food that made them sick, or was laced with drugs.

Giving them a bathroom, but not providing water to wash or flush away waste.

Filling the tub with water, and then nearly drowning them, repeatedly.

Stealing their clothes.

And then there was the standard physical and mental abuse, that didn’t require any sort of special equipment- beatings, electric shock, shallow wounds, sexual assault, insults, screaming, force-feeding of food or liquid or their own waste-

Leaving them fucking _waiting._

“You should sleep,” Terenzia told him some- they might have been days, but time felt unmoving and monotonous here. They had no timekeeping devices, or anything besides the clothes they’d been wearing on the rise. The others had slept twice, and food had been delivered five times.

It had come in the hands of a robot- maybe robots, if they were identical- that looked exactly like the ones melted or abandoned while under repair in the city. It hadn’t said a word, or reacted to their attempts to communicate- simply put the food down on the table, and left.

Ivan had forbidden the others from eating anything until he’d had some of everything, and sat and waited for some time to see if there would be any side effects. If they had been poisoned or drugged, it wouldn’t permanently harm him.

Nothing had happened, and he’d let them at the food. He’d done it again for the next meal, and the meal after, and wasn’t planning on ever stopping. Establishing a pattern and then breaking it was another way to wear someone down.

None of them had said anything, but they all knew that it was the Ramman who’d taken them.

“No,” Ivan told her.

“You can’t _not_ sleep,” she said. “The rest of us can be awake while you sleep-”

“No,” he told her again. “ _I_ am the one who knows what they might try.”

“And if you’re sleep-deprived if they _do_ try something?” Terenzia challenged. “Marschall, _please._ ”

“No,” he said for a third time. “I will not. I will _not_ leave you unprotected.”

“We won’t be-”

“Did you have a vaginoplasty?” Ivan asked.

Terenzia gaped at him, and he felt her punch of shock to the gut and her immediate re-evaluation of his granted level of trust at the question.

“It _is_ my business now,” he told her. “I need to know. We do not know what our captor’s views on sex and gender are. They may not have any. They may match up perfectly with standards of transphobia that are fifty, a hundred, two hundred years past. I doubt you had any hormones on you when they took us. Dysphoria is a weak spot open to exploitation, and if they decide to beat or strip you for torture then they may react violently to what they find. I do not want to someday face your parents and have to tell them that not only did I let you die, but that I let you die to physical and sexual and psychological abuse because of how you are.”

“No,” Terenzia said stiffly, after a moment. “I _don’t_ have any hormones, and I was _trying_ not to think about it.”

She left the room for a moment and came back towing Árpád, who she had sit up at the head of the bed they’d been sharing so she could curl up against them. Ivan had considered, earlier, banning them from sleeping in the same bed. Showing that sort of personal attachment was just giving their captors material to use against them later- but there was a comfort that went straight to the instincts of having someone who loved you warm and close while you slept, and he wasn’t willing to deny them that.

Árpád starting singing, quietly, a lullaby in Hungarian, and Ivan fell asleep before he could catch what was going on. He woke up later on the bed he’d been sitting on before, tipped over so his head was on a pillow, his boots taken off. Árpád was watching him from the bed next to him, Terenzia asleep on their lap.

“You magicked me,” Ivan said.

“You needed to sleep,” Árpád said. “Nothing happened. Don’t treat my wife like that again.”

“ _They_ will hurt her worse,” he told them. “And you, and Emma.”

“And _you?_ ”

“I have experienced it all already,” Ivan informed them. “None of _you_ should have to; and I am going to do what I can to prevent trauma, and damage.”

“It’s still an _‘if’_ right now, Marschall,” Árpád said calmly. “Stop talking like it’s an inevitability. You’re scaring us.”

There was plenty _to_ be scared of, and Ivan wasn’t going to hide that. He didn’t have to give details- he would _not_ give details- but they _were_ going to be informed.

Time passed and Ivan tried to keep track of the days as best he could by the other’s sleep cycles- but he’d start counting and then forget where he’d been, or wake up _certain_ he’d missed a number of days, or-

He couldn’t keep anything straight. He could eat, he could sleep, they could talk, he could think and plan but it was still just the _four_ of them, in three rooms, and nothing ever changed.

Nothing. _Changed._

Eventually, one day, Ivan saw the robot come in to deliver the first meal of the day and he just-

 ** _“DO SOMETHING!”_** he roared at it. “Why are you leaving us _waiting? What do you **want? TALK TO US!**_ ”

The robot was unmoved, and that-

He grabbed it by the shoulders and shoved it against the wall. It took less time for him to smash its head in than it did for his fellow Jäger to react to what he was doing. The robot went limp and Ivan dropped it, hands bleeding, ready, waiting-

There was no response. The door didn’t open. There were no alarms.

Ivan started counting.

He’d gotten to five-hundred ninety-two when Emma said:

“Marschall, maybe you’d better go clean your hands.”

He didn’t want to go. He was a Nation and they’d be healed in a few hours. Even if they got infected, it wouldn’t be for long and if he went to the bathroom for the hot water and the soap then their captors could get someone by him-

“Marschall,” Árpád said, not ordering but firmly suggesting.

He went, eventually, once he reached one thousand- about sixteen or seventeen minutes, give or take for human error. He didn’t hear the robot get up and walk out over the hot water coming out of the tap. The others had to tell him about it when he came back out and found it gone.

They’d also eaten without waiting for him to check the food and he spent the next hours hypervigilant- something had changed they’d eaten the food what if this was it what if this was the day- but nothing happened to them. He checked it again at dinner, which came no later or no earlier than usual, as far as they could tell, again by a robot. There seemed no special precautions taken to protect this one, and the process of bring the food put it on the table just to walk back out hadn’t changed, either.

Their captors didn’t care.

They _didn’t care._

Ivan couldn’t sleep that night, trying to work it out. Was it a show of power? Were they supposed to be intimidated? What was the _point?_

“Marschall,” Emma said quietly late that night, in the room with the table. You had to go through it to get to the bathroom, where she’d woken up to go. “It’s been- however long it’s been. They’re not going to hurt us.”

Of course they would. _Of course they would._

“Why haven’t you left? I can still feel you- you’ve still got your power.”

He’d tried to step away- just from one side of the room to the other, not to leave. Leaving wouldn’t help. He’d be _abandoning_ them, and he wouldn’t know where to send any rescue missions to attack the base or the compound or _wherever_ they were, anyway. There wasn’t _room_ for a real rescue party in here, and even if it was just to grab them and leave, they would have no idea where’d they’d been and no way to know what area they should be keeping an eye on.

He hadn’t been able to step, though. Something had gotten all tangled, and he’d just been in the same spot, both feet on the ground, dizzy and disoriented.

The next day, Terenzia refused to get out of bed.

Ivan thought he’d missed a poison or a toxin or a drug, but when he tried to check her for signs of sickness she’d clamped the sheets tighter around herself, head completely hidden, and cried at him to _go away and leave me alone._ Árpád, seated next to the lump of her body under the sheets, quietly explained.

“She’s not sick,” they said. “It’s the dysphoria. It’s been too long without estrogen and- it’s not like testosterone. You have to keep taking it or your endocrine system starts overriding what you’ve corrected. She’s been trying to ignore it, but there’s only so long- we can’t help. You can’t do anything about dysphoria. You just have to sit through it.”

The robot who came to deliver breakfast broke routine.

It put down the food, but then hesitated on its way to straighten back up. It looked around the room, clearly expecting to find four people, not three. The bathroom door was open and the room clearly unoccupied, so the robot headed for the bedroom.

Ivan got between it and the door.

“No,” he said. “No, you will _not_ touch her-”

The robot spoke.

No one understood it, but the sounds it made were clearly language.

“We don’t-” Emma started to tell it, but then it started to try to look _around_ Ivan.

This was a disturbingly human sort of thing to do, especially after the weeks of acting like a bit of programming.

It said something again, more urgently; and then repeated it when it didn’t get an answer. Eventually, after being unable to see around Ivan or get him to move, it turned around and walked out without trying to force anything.

Dinner came and the only time Terenzia had left the bed was at Árpád’s urging, to use the bathroom and brush her hair. They’d brought her breakfast, and she’d eaten a little. Emma was the only one waiting at the table when the door opened- Árpád was still in the bedroom, sitting with their wife; and Ivan was lurking next to the door, prepared to shadow the robot until it left the room to keep it from getting to Terenzia.

But a second robot came in behind him once he started following the one with the food, and it got to the door of the bedroom before either he or Emma could block it. It walked in and pulled the covers off Terenzia.

She smacked it and fought for the blankets back, and Árpád tried to help. The robot said something, and then repeated it a few times in a calmer, soothing tone; but when that got no response-

Árpád suddenly appeared in the table room and the door swung shut, locks they hadn’t known existed in it shooting closed, loudly. The robot with the food had already left in the confusion.

“Magic,” Árpád said shakily after a few moments. “It used magic to send me out here. What kind of _robot-_ ”

There was nothing to do but test the food. They’d eaten most of it when the door unlocked and the robot pushed it back open. Árpád shot past it to see what it had done to their wife.

The robot looked Ivan up and down- slowly, silently- and then left.

“It just didn’t give the blankets back,” she mumbled through the sheets. Árpád had lain down next to her, holding her and the bundle of sheets close. “That’s all, Marschall, promise.”

That night, Ivan had them push two beds together in the further corner from the door. Terenzia went by the wall, and then Árpád, Emma on their other side, and Ivan closest to the door.

Breakfast didn’t come the next morning. Instead, it was four robots, and they were escorted out of the room for the first time.

Weakness; they’d shown signs of breaking and now the torture was coming and Ivan spent the walk going through the plans he’d made during the long long days of their imprisonment- what he would do, what he could say to the others, the things he could do through the citizen bond like block out pain or-

_Please God don’t let it get that far_

-really _focus_ on one of them to the exclusion of all else and grab their soul and _hold on,_ hold them in their body through what would otherwise kill them and Ivan knew that he would never have to worry about that for Árpád but if the choice came down between Terenzia or Emma he was going to save Terenzia, because with Emma there it would be Ivan a half-functioning woman and a Jäger lost in grief instead of Ivan and a married couple with a very good and pressing reason to fight through fear and pain to save each other.

But their captors defied the rules again, and they were taken not to a torture room but a grand hall, like the Court Gallery in the Jagdshall. It was stone, and painted fresco like that which fragmentarily lined the road on the rise, only the stars looked like tiny embedded diamond chips and the nebulae and planets looked like high-quality photographs and the ceiling-

The ceiling was real. Not a special glass roof that looked out onto a view of space but _actually space,_ emanating too much cold and oppressive, crushing weight to be anything but. It wasn’t vacuum in the room by any means, but Ivan had the unnerving feeling that atmosphere stopped and the uncaring void of space began about five centimeters above his head.

There was a dais at the other end of the room, with three levels and lounging couch on top. The wall behind it was nonexistent, the same way the ceiling was.

A woman, human-looking, was seated on it.

Her hair was black, and bound back in a sheer cloth, iridescent with the colors of the nebulae on the walls. It was secured with a multitude of thin chains of tiny diamonds, which formed a sort of crown on her forehead. Her dress was a dull red-purple-pinkish pastel that shaded through most tones in that spectrum throughout its weave, and she was wrapped in a long dark cloth, embroidered in a wide strip on its edge with bright blueish green and hints of gold. Her jewelry was gold, with silver inlays.

She looked at them and said something in the same language that the robots had used, and looked at them, expectantly.

“Look,” Emma told her. “We have no idea what you’re saying.”

The woman pursed her lips a little, and said some more things, gesturing between Terenzia and Ivan.

“What do you _want,_ ” Ivan said, moving to the front of the group to put himself between the people he was meant to look after and the woman. “Why did you take us?”    

She pointed at Terenzia and said something to him, clearing waiting for answer.

“She is _mine,_ ” he told her. He pointed at himself, to reinforce the point. “ _Mine,_ all of them.”

The woman seemed satisfied with this, and started addressing him directly.

“We do not know what you _want,_ ” he told her. “Who are you? Are you the Ramman?”

She spread her arms wide to indicate the robots filling the room.

“Ramman,” she said.

“Hold up,” Emma said. “The Pict didn’t say _anything_ about them being robots.”

At _‘Pict’,_ a rumble of noise went through the Ramman. Árpád made frantic _‘shut up!’_ motions at Emma, but his Hauptmann hadn’t caught on in time.

“The _Pict,_ ” Ivan spat, putting as much disdain and anger and distaste into his tone as he could, trying to convey through the language barrier that they were in _no way_ on the Pict’s side. “Have lied and omitted information ever since we met them. Why are you surprised?”

The woman said something, sharply, and the four of them looked at her again. She reached up-

Space went strange. She reached up through the stars and they didn’t get any smaller or closer and her arm didn’t get any longer, but she cupped her hand around one point of light and drew her arm back and the light got larger, and larger, until by the time her hand reached the level of her chest she was holding a planet there. She started to descend the dais.

“Wait,” Árpád said, urgency in their tone. “Wait. _Wait-_ look, on the dais- there’s writing I _know_ that that’s _Irkallan_ there in the middle that’s Ahes’s name-glyph-”

They rattled off what was presumably the writing; and the Ramman and the woman, who had looked at them sharply at _‘Irkallan’_ , went very quiet.

“What does that _mean?_ ” Terenzia hissed to her spouse.

“I don’t _know!_ ” they exclaimed. “Nobody _knows_ no one _speaks_ Irkallan, we just know how to _read_ it!”

“Ahes?” the woman demanded. “Ahes-”

The rest was a stream of what must have been Irkallan, because it sounded similar to whatever Árpád had said, now that they had reference for it.

“How did _aliens_ learn _Irkallan?_ ” Terenzia asked.

“What makes you think _I_ know?”

“How do you know Ahes?” Ivan asked the woman. “Have you been to Kêr-Is-”

“Shar-is?” the woman asked. It seemed like she nearly smiled, but it quickly turned into a look of narrowed concentration. “ _Pict-_ ”

More Irkallan, and she thrust the planet out at them. She pushed the tip of her finger through the clouds surrounding it and space went strange again- the planet didn’t get any larger and none of the atmosphere changed or moved aside but they could see the top of the rise clearly, as though it were only a miniature. Nia, Diana, Nico, and János were sitting on their horses on the blasted area where Ivan and the others had disappeared from, the Hounds around them. As they watched, one of the Hounds melted through a white gelatinous form to resolve to Arik, who moved his hands like he was trying to explain something.

 _“Pict!”_ the woman hissed, jabbing a finger at Arik.

Terenzia started cursing under her breath and Árpád started to talk at her, frantically.

“No, no!” they exclaimed in the Trade Creole. “ _Not_ Pict! _Jäger_ \- that’s the Jagdsprinz-”

She seemed unmoved.

“The Jagdsprinz!” they repeated, a little desperately. “You _had_ to have been to Honalee to learn Irkallan, Erlkönig died she’s Teufelmördor- I am Árpád child of Kore Despoina daughter of Amphitrite Kataiis Empress of Póli Thálassas-”

There was no indication that she understood what they were saying, or recognized any of the names. Her expression darkened.

 _“The Jagdsprinz is our King,”_ Árpád told her. “Why don’t you _understand_ you know enough to have Irkallan script and use _‘Nanshe’_ why don’t you know the Jagdsprinz- she acts with the authority of _Ereshkigal-_ ”  

“Ereshkigal,” the woman said, _finally_ recognizing a name. Her expression cleared, but her eyes took a sharp, bright glint. _“Ereshkigal.”_

“Yes, yes!” they said frantically, pointing at Nia. “From Ereshkigal!”

Árpád gestured to the entire group.

“From Ereshkigal!”

The woman said something short and sharp- Ivan knew enough about tone to recognize a _‘no’_ when he heard it. She said the word again, and then _‘Ereshkigal’._

That was probably something like ‘ _No, not Ereshkigal-’_

She pointed to herself, as Ivan and Árpád had done, and said, angrily:

_“Nanshe.”_

_That,_ he knew.

 _“Fuck,”_ Ivan said.

* * *

 

Ly Erg came to get him from his class.

He walked in the door with Lana just behind him and Cherendai just visible out in the hallway. The class fell silent.

“János,” Lana said. “The Jagdsprinz needs us.”

“Why-”

“If any of you have a class with Dr. Miccichelo later today,” she told his students. “It’s cancelled. He’s on emergency family leave for the next week. You should get a notification when we figure out if someone can cover for him, so plan accordingly.”

“Lana-”

“This class is also dismissed,” she concluded. The students looked at her uncertainly, glancing back to him.

“János,” Lana told him. “You’re not going to be coming back today- even if we get done early enough for you to come back, you’re not going to _want_ to.”

There was a terrible moment when _‘Nazario’_ and _‘emergency family leave’_ and _‘Jagdsprinz needs us’_ aligned into clarity.

It couldn’t- no no no no no he’d _checked_ the charm right before class, just like he always did; and there hadn’t been any change no discolorations or anything and that was supposed to mean Árpád was _safe-_

He knew he grabbed the edge of the table at the front of the room, and presumably he seconded Lana’s dismissal of his students, because when he noticed that Ly Erg was trying to talk him into regulating his breathing they were all gone.

“The _Ludovico Manin_ came back earlier today,” Ly told him. “And the report we got from Diana said that _Razanás Wildes Jagd,_ Terenzia, Árpád, and Hauptmann Miccichelo have been missing for a year- rather, they were missing for a year since Diana wrote, so they may have been found, since it takes six months-”   

János was not having that. They could not- if they’d been missing for an _entire year_ then the odds were that they hadn’t been found in the sixth months since it had taken the report to get here.

“No,” he cut the Kommandant off. “ _No._ Where-”

“In the Jagdshall,” Ly said. “It should be the War Room-”

János didn’t hear the end of that because he just stepped himself up to the Jagdshall, into the Court Gallery, and exited out to the Hall of Glass to run down the corridor to the door that led to the Intelligence and Internal Affairs’s offices, just behind the Court Gallery, and the staircase that went straight up to the landing outside the Jagdsprinz’s personal office.

The staircase spiraled a little, so he couldn’t run up _those_ once he’d shoved his way past the Hunt Intelligence officers in the hallway, but he _could_ burst into the War Room since the door was just to the left of the top of the stairs.

He’d been in the War Room once before, after Cassiel, and at the time he’d thought it was kind of- he wasn’t sure what. The War Room was the safe room from the Teufelhaus, carefully shifted with the miracle of physics and magic to its location in the new building. The full working and stocked kitchen was still there, and the bathrooms, though the area where the beds had been before was now lined with bookshelves and the original wooden table had been replaced with the round table and chairs from the original Jagdshall. The table from the safe room was now down in the Officers’ Mess- an officers’ club, really, a place where the Kommandants and higher ranks could have meetings away from everyone else and avoid their subordinates and work for an hour or two- on the same level as the Court Gallery, at the very end of the hallway he’d run down.

The War Room had never _actually_ been used for a war- the planning for the Italian Civil War had happened entirely in Rome- it was just called that because of the steel plating in the walls. It was the most secure building in the entire Jagdshall.

This time, when he burst in, he only had a momentary spike of awareness about the _tick-tock; tick-tock_ of the grandfather clock from the stories he’d been told and the anxiety he was already feeling.

Nico was seated in one of the chairs and someone had gotten Lord Hiruz into the room somehow and Arik was here too and-

 _“They’re-!”_ János yelled at Nia, unable to finish the thought. **_“Árpád-”_**

“I know,” she said. “We’re going to find them-”

“It’ll be _another_ six months-”

 _“Not if I can help it!”_ she snapped back at him. “That’s why I _called_ you, János; you and Lana and Nico and Cherendai Temurev! The four of you are the best ones to tell me if the World Gate can get me to Theiostea _now;_ so I can figure this out!”

“I don’t- that’s not my speciality-”

“You’re _Seelenkind_ ,” Nia told him. “The _Seelenkind_ with magic are you and Lana and Nico, and I was told Cherendai Temurev is the most accomplished sorcerer of Honalee. If all of you can’t figure it out, I doubt we’ll know unless I try riding through it, and I’m not going to do that blind.”

They had to wait for Ly Erg to actually make it to the Jagdshall with Lana and Cherendai, and János spent that time seated at the table, head in his hands, as Nico talked to him, providing white noise that went in one ear and out the other as he tried to focus on what he knew about magic and travel.

The four of them started discussing and debating as soon as Lana took a seat, and for a time, János was able to lose himself some in that. He could engage in argument for maybe ten minutes at a time, fifteen if they were trying to get through something particularly complex, but then his mind would start whispering _Árpád Árpád Árpád Árpád Árpád_ again and he’d just sit there, trying to shove it away.

Nico and Lana reached a consensus with Cherendai during one of these periods, and filled him in. They thought it could work.

“I’m going,” János told Nia.

“I’m already going to have _one_ frantic parent with me,” she said. “I don’t need two.”

“You don’t know for _certain_ that the World Gate will go to Theiostea,” he argued. “I volunteer to go first. If I don’t come back, then you can send people on the _Ludovico Manin_ instead. But there’s a _chance_ that this will get you there- get _us_ there- and I _have_ to know.”

He could tell that Nia wasn’t happy about his willingness to risk the Gate- but she’d never had to worry about Arik or Isolde the way _he_ was worrying, right now, about his child.

They gave him a horse to ride down to the Gate with, and the only reason he stopped at the end of the Huntsroad was because Nia and Cherendai were the ones who were going to set it to- hopefully- go to Theiostea.

As soon as they started to say it was open, he plowed right through.

János wasn’t sure he’d ever seen something as relieving as the crash of waves on the rocky beach down below him, or the settlement in the distance. He turned around to head back through.

“Lord Hiruz, you’re in charge until I get back,” Nia ordered as soon as he reappeared. Nico slipped past him while she spoke, and it took Arik a moment to sort out the few Hounds they were bringing along to help in the search for their missing Jäger; but then he and Arik and Nia went through to Theiostea, and Nia closed the Gate behind them.

Nico’s apprehension was making his horse fidget, stamping at the ground and dancing in place. János was about to tell him to stop, because Árpád would tell him off for it the next time he went in to see the horses, but his mind caught up to the automatic reaction before he could actually say anything; and so he sat there, silent.

The ride through the hills and down to the river plains didn’t take very long, but it was a little cool. It was early morning here still, just past dawn, and there was frost rime on the grass and rocks and moss that broke under their horses’ hooves as they made their way along.

By the time they reached the settlement most people were out and about. Most people around stopped and stood there as soon as they got within noticing distance, stunned by their sudden appearance. Eventually, someone made a break for it and ran further into the settlement, presumably to get officials.

Diana met them on the main road through the village. Nico rode over to Diana immediately and hugged her as best he could, since both of them were still in the saddle.

“You have things for the Hounds still, don’t you?” Nia asked Diana, and she led them to the house that Terenzia and Árpád had shared, and the rooms Ivan had had, and Emma’s place. The Hounds were allowed to get familiar with the imprint their presence left on the world for a while, and then Nia took them back outside and ordered them to _“find”_.

They milled around in the street for a few seconds before picking up traces. This was something that the Hounds could do that regular dogs couldn’t- the advantage of scenting _souls_ rather than physical bodies meant that there was a much wider timeframe they could be useful in.

János, Nico, Arik, Nia, and Diana followed the Hounds out of the village and over the bridge to the farmland, then from the farmland over the bridge that cross the other river and took them into the city. They were clearly following the usual route, because there were people out here, and they kept stopping to stare at them as they went by.

The Hounds took them up a road to the top of a rise, which was unnervingly blasted down to the bedrock and left it glassy. Time had built up a dirt layer on most of it, with some plant life, but it was still clearly the site of a disaster.

“This is the last place anyone heard of them being,” Diana told them. “We don’t know where they went after this.”

“What are they _doing?_ ” Nico demanded, agitated, looking at the Hounds. They were walking back and forth, breaking off individually to whine up at Nia, ears held low, and wag their tails entreatingly before slinking away again and repeating the process.

“Arik?” she asked, and her son got off his horse and joined the Hounds in their own form to investigate.

“They’re,” he tried to explain a couple minutes later, when he switched forms again. “It’s- there’s some sort of path here, or there was, and it- it went _through?_ I don’t think there’s a right word for it. But that’s where they went, and it’s all tangled up on itself. I’m not sure we can go that way. It’s like- like if the crossover from Earth to Honalee by the Jagdshall got turned around on itself, so that the optical illusion you can do with walking in Fama and the Jägerskov at the same time got-”

He stopped and shook his head.

“It’s all twisty,” Arik said. “And there’s a way in but- look, we can’t use it, and I know _why_ but I can’t _explain_ it. You have to _feel_ it.”

 “The Hounds and the Hunt are supposed to be able to get _anywhere,_ ” János said, dread settling low in his stomach.

“Oh, we can get there,” Arik assured him. “We just can’t go the same way _they_ did. On the other side of- _this_ mess, it’s Honalee.”

 _“What,”_ Nia said.

Diana looked very confused.

“We’re not on Earth-”

“Honalee’s got stars,” Arik interrupted. “I’ve seen them. Why should they work any differently than Earth’s stars?”

“Because Honalee isn’t-” Nia started to say, and then stopped.

“I feel like an idiot,” she said. “We don’t _actually_ know that Honalee _isn’t_ a different plane-”

Space _twisted_ and the ambient magic shivered violently in a way János didn’t like at _all,_ and suddenly they were all down on the road, a few feet from where it came to the top of the rise. The blasted-out area was still blasted-out, but there was a heavy stone building there where there hadn’t been before, low and looming. Behind it-

It was like looking at the join between Earth and Honalee, around the Jagdshall. It was the same overlay of trees and landscape on one level, but on another- stars and black. A little corner of the universe had tucked itself up into Theiostea.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” Diana said, a little faintly. Arion stamped in place and huffed, tossing his head. János wasn’t like his child, he couldn’t hear horses- but Arion was clearly not happy either.

“János!” Nico hissed at him, and he looked over.

The edge of the blasted area had been dotted with lights, intensely-bright and glowing yellow-white, shimmering and glittering, rather large and floating in the air like the mist spirits’ foxfire in the fog on the canyon wastes in the Jägerskov. He felt a change in the local magic and turned his head enough to see that Nia had summoned her armor.

Beyond her, a woman in dull pastel reds and purples melted out of the darkness of the pitch-black opening in the building that presumably functioned as its front door and started sweeping towards them. Behind her came- robots?

“Those are the robots we found in the city!” he heard Diana exclaim.

“Arik,” the Jagdsprinz said, loudly, drawing her sword- what was she going to try to _do,_ János thought, _stab_ the robots? “Back up.”

Arik retreated in the face of the approaching woman until he was a step behind his parent, and the Jagdsprinz nudged Arion up slightly, just enough so that they were more firmly between him and the approaching woman. She stopped a few feet from them and demanded something of the Jagdsprinz, ignoring the Hounds that sniffed her cautiously. She stood impatiently for a moment, just long enough to see that none of them were going to answer her, and then pointed back the way she’d come with an angry expression.

 _“Árpád!”_ János yelled. The missing Jäger, all four of them, had just been pulled out of the darkness of the building, and were looking back at it in consternation as the robots herded them towards the woman.

“ _Apa_!” they called back, clearly surprised to shoot their head around and see him. “What are you-”

“How long have been gone?” Ivan demanded.

“A year and a half-” Diana started to say.

“ _Mamma_!” Terenzia cried. “ _Papà_ \- you’re not supposed to-”

“No!” the Jagdsprinz and Ivan ordered Nico at the same time, the Jagdsprinz flinging out her arm to halt him before he could ride towards his daughter and child-in-law.

“We do not know what they will do,” Ivan told him. “But they have not hurt us- so far.”

János was not at all comfortable with the emphatic pause before _‘so far’_ ; but so long as Árpád really _had_ been safe this entire time-

“Marschall,” the Jagdsprinz said. “What the _hell_ is going on here?”

There was a jumbled not-really explanation as all four of them tried to talk. János got _‘magic robots’_ and _‘space’_ and _‘locked in these rooms’_ and _‘no idea how long’_ and _‘Nanshe’_ -

 _“‘Nanshe’?”_ he demanded.

“ _Her, Apa_ ,” Árpád said, pointing to the woman. “She speaks Irkallan and she recognizes _‘Ereshkigal’_ and _‘Irkalla’_ and she says that _she’s_ Nanshe.”

“I thought that was supposed to be a figure of speech,” Nico said.

“Well no one _knew_ why it was _‘Nanshe’_ and not _‘Ahes’-_ ”

“She knows _that_ name, too,” Árpád put in, a little unnecessarily, when Nanshe looked at János sharply when he said the name.”

“If _she’s_ Nanshe,” the Jagdsprinz said. “Then she is a King of Honalee, and subject to the Pact-”

“Jagdsprinz,” Ivan said. “I do not believe she _knows_ about you. She did not recognize your title. She did not recognize the name of the Hunt. She speaks nothing but Irkallan, that we can tell, and I believe-”

He paused for a moment.

“I believe,” he said. “That she may have _left_ Honalee, in a time before memory; especially as it seems there are no records of her but her name, preserved in the glyph.”

Nanshe fixed the Jagdsprinz with a glare and said something low and angry, gesturing sharply at her. There was a pause of only a few seconds, and then she continued, more slowly, jabbing a finger at Arik. The only word any of them could catch was _‘Pict’_.

“She was really upset when she saw Leutnant Beilschmidt shift, Jagdprinz,” Emma said, a little nervously. “They all were.”

“He is _not_ Pict,” the Jagdsprinz snapped at Nanshe. “He’s my _son!_ He’s- János!”

“What?” he said, surprised to be addressed.

“Irkallan is used in the ritual spells, isn’t it- so there are formulas,” she said. “And to make new rituals, you have to know components. So what is the component when you want to talk about your son?”

János’s mind just went completely blank.

“Your child?” she pressed. “Your children?”

“I don’t-!”

“Your family?”

“I- _‘Katharīv-jati’_ , maybe!”

“ _Katharīv-jati_ ,” the Jagdsprinz told Nanshe, pointing at Arik; and then flattened her hand against her chest. “ _Mine._ ”

She pointed to Ivan and the others, and then made a circular gesture meant to include all of them, and then pointed back at herself.

“ _Katharīv-jati_!” she repeated, forcefully.

Whatever it meant in Irkallan, if it meant anything at all, made Nanshe pause. She eyed the Jagdsprinz, expression set and severe.

János really hoped it meant what he thought it meant. Maybe Cherendai would know- they should have brought _her_ along-

Nanshe drew a bronze knife out of her sleeve and reached for the group of captive Jäger.

They might _all_ have said: _“No!”_ but the Jagdsprinz’s voice was the loudest; and it was her and Arion who jumped forwards to meet Nanshe, the steel of the Jagdsprinz’s sword coming down to block Nanshe’s bronze knife.

The other King spat something at her and there was a sudden sharp increase in pressure, physically and magically- Nanshe was trying to do _something_ but János and the others never found out what because the Jagdsprinz snarled wordlessly back at her and let her own power rise, enough to visibly darken the air and start to cloak her in shadow, giving her a gravity she hadn’t had before. The combined effect of two Kings asserting themselves made the local magic writhe and twist around on itself, and János wasn’t sure if it was bleed out of the Jagdprinz’s power or the disrupted magic that put his nerves on edge and his heart race. His breath was coming too fast and too shallow. 

This was a standoff, now, and none of them knew what would happen if it broke.

“Arik,” the Jagdsprinz said, tone gone the way János remembered it from dealing with Cassiel’s workshop. She was staring fixedly at Nanshe, who was just as intensely focused on her. Neither of them seemed like they were breaking the eye contact, even to blink. “Go back to Martinach and tell Isolde to go to Irkalla, and get us some sort of assistance.”

“ _Elti-_ ”

“ _You_ can’t do what we can, Arik; and _I_ can’t leave,” the Jagdsprinz told him. “Isolde can go further than you- she’ll be heard, like _I_ would be. _Go_.”

Arik turned and ran.

* * *

The university had been stirred up enough by the sudden disappearance of János to the Jagdshall and Nazario’s abruptly-cancelled classes that Isolde had gone home early for the day. She was in the War Room, waiting for her _Elti_ to come back and say that she’d found Ivan and the others, when Arik turned up.

“Isolde,” he told her. “ _Elti_ needs you to go to Irkalla.”

“What?” she asked, and after the moment she needed to let that sink in, panic started to follow. “No- no, if she needs to talk to anyone there then she can-”

“They found the Ramman on Theiostea and Nanshe- like _Razanás_ Nanshe, the name-glyph and all- she’s in _charge_ of them but she only knows Irkallan and she stole Terenzia and Árpád and the others and she and _Elti_ are deadlocked because they can’t _communicate_ and she’s never heard of the Hunt-”

He was getting very agitated.

“Arik-”

“Nanshe just-” he said. “Isolde; what the demon did _here,_ in Martinach, with connecting Earth and Honalee- Nanshe just _did that,_ while we were _standing_ there- she’s- she stole Terenzia and the others through a- I can’t explain it I _can’t_ but it’s all the things physics _wishes_ it could do to time and space- you _have_ to go, Isolde!”

Irkalla was the very last place she wanted to go back to but she put down her papers and left the room and then the Jagdshall, placing herself firmly in the Jägerskov before stepping to Orcus. It took a lot more effort in Honalee than it did on Earth, probably because she was out of her native- dimension? plane?- and because Honalee was just _strange,_ generally. It was faster than getting a horse and riding to Orcus, even if she had to sit and rest for a couple of minutes, and time was very important in this situation.

She’d thought she’d have to wave off horses and Kore Despoina when she started walking down the road to the myrtle forest and Irkalla, but neither showed. She tried not to think about it because it was already bad enough that she was going _through_ the myrtle forest without adding another wrong thing but it didn’t work, it wasn’t working, all she could think about was maybe something had gone wrong _here_ too and not just on Theiostea and that made no sense but it was a persistent thought and it wouldn’t go away and it was better than thinking about Theiostea and her _Elti_ facing off against a King no one had known existed and who could do what the demon and the Hunt had accidentally done to space on _purpose_ and ruled a race of aliens who made the Pict worried-

Isolde made to the other side of the forest to the edge of the swamp and the start of the wooden walkway, and forced herself to step out onto it. She managed the walk by counting her steps- _one two three four-_ and staring hard at the wood so she wasn’t looking at the water or the walls of Irkalla getting closer and closer and _she wasn’t supposed to be here._

She only knew that she’d reached the end of the walkway when the wood gave way to stone.

“ _Razanás_ Martinach,” Mayet said, and Isolde looked up. The woman’s gray feather cloak blended into the background, and the hawk seated atop her staff was eyeing her like she was prey. “You are not supposed to be here. Turn back.”

“I have to-” Isolde tried to say, and found her voice trembled too much from the shaking she hadn’t noticed before. “ _Elti-_ the Jagdsprinz sent me there’s-”

Everything she knew, which wasn’t much, came out in a rush and by the end of it she’d sunk to her knees to the stone in a daze, hugging herself, trying to hold herself together. The monster in the swamp- Ammut, that was its name; and the swamp was Duat; _Elti_ had told her these things once- had come to the edge of the stone area that formed the sort of front porch of Irkalla and was eyeing her from the water with one very large eye.

“Nanshe, you say?” Mayet asked.

“Yes,” Isolde whispered. “Yes.”

“Too long,” she heard Irkalla’s guard say quietly to herself. “Why now? Irregular. _Wrong._ ”

Isolde heard but didn’t see Mayet bang the end of her staff on the stone, and suddenly the weight was gone and she was kneeling curled over in back of the Jagdshall, on the edge of the Earth-Honalee border. Some human Jäger came over and she could feel their concern and worry, and she waved them off, leaning forward to dig her fingers into the dirt and re-ground herself, back in life.

* * *

Terenzia and Árpád had reached for each other at the same time when Nanshe had drawn her knife. She’d caught Marschall Braginski move just the slightest bit, prepared to step quickly in front of both of them, and she knew what the Marschall and her spouse had been thinking.

The Marschall was a Nation, and her spouse was full _Seelenkind_ \- not half, like her. They wouldn’t be killed if Nanshe attacked them. Terenzia may have been Jäger, as well; but when faced with a King only a portion of their power and what protection the Hunt’s functional immortality could offer wasn’t likely to be enough. Either of them would take the knife for her.

Terenzia had tightened her grip on Árpád, silently trying to remind them that she did _not_ want to see them hurt- and if Nanshe went for them, it would be easier, with a tighter grip, to pull them back and away, and maybe get between the two of them herself. Árpád and the Marschall might curse themselves bitterly for not getting there first, but _she_ would feel better.

But the Jagdsprinz’s sword had come down on Nanshe’s knife and none of that had been necessary- for some time now, much too long in her opinion, the two Kings had been staring each other down while Arik went off to do his errand.

It was the Jagdsprinz who looked away first, not because she was backing off but in response to some sense that none of the rest of them had. She looked away from Nanshe up at the sky and straightened, raising her free arm. A black hawk shot down and landed on the provided perch, swiveling its head around to look at Nanshe, and shriek at her.

The sound seemed disapproving to Terenzia; and apparently to Nanshe as well, because the King’s expression changed to one of mild surprise.

A woman Terenzia had never seen before, who bore a staff and hair and eyes done like pictures of Ancient Egyptian queens she’d seen, ghosted into the space next to the Jagdsprinz and Nanshe, and addressed the latter in Irkallan.

Whatever she’d said very clearly took Nanshe _quite_ aback- she dropped her bronze knife, and stammered something, a bit haltingly. The new woman said a long string of something else, possibly an explanation; and then let Nanshe talk again. The King was definitely explaining something, because she began to get animated, speaking with her hands and indicating different people with fingers and gestures- herself, the Ramman, Terenzia and the others, the Jagdsprinz-

The Ramman were paying close attention, as well, and Terenzia had a fleeting moment of wondering if she and Árpád and Ivan and Emma could slip to the safety of the other Jäger while they were distracted.

Nanshe finished, crossing her arms in front of her chest; and the woman turned the Jagdsprinz.

“Last Nanshe and her people were here on Theiostea,” she said. “The Pict were coming. They thought, when they realized there were others here, that you were Pict. But the Ramman who came to see were confused by what they felt from _Razanás Wildes Jagd_ and Horsecharmer, who were _like_ Nanshe, but not Kings in the same way. So they stole them. They were concerned that _Wildes Jagd_ and her, there-”

She inclined her head at Terenzia.

“-had fallen ill with something they couldn’t understand, and Nanshe had them brought to her. She wanted her questions about who they were answered, and when they couldn’t understand her-”

She shrugged.

“It looked like the Pict, because they knew of no other people who could travel across space but them. But then Horsecharmer could read Irkallan, and Nanshe saw your son, Jagdsprinz, and the only explanation she had was that the Pict had found a way to us, which she had tried to prevent by severing the connection between- she calls it _‘Shar’_ and _‘Nibiru’_ ; Honalee’s space as opposed to the Honalee _you_ are used to thinking of- and that they had taken you and were using you to attempt to trick her. At first it was just because of the huldrene and the Thálassians, when _they_ shape-changed; but then you claimed your son.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the Jagdsprinz said. “She knows Irkallan, she’s been to Honalee- there’s _no_ reason to think that the huldrene and the Thálassians were Pict hiding themselves! She should have come to Honalee and tried to _talk-_ ”

“Nanshe Queen of All Stars has not been in Honalee since before Amphitrite Kataiis had even been _born_ from where magic mixed with the furthest depths of the Sea, the first waters of the world,” the woman cut her off, tone stern and severe. “ _She_ is the first King of Honalee and the third-oldest of us all, behind Ereshkigal who was the first and I who am her guard. _She_ was born from the division of the universe into vacuum and atmosphere, void and fundament, space and planet. _She_ walked the surface of planets when they were still new and cooling. She left Irkalla for her people ages before there was anything of the Honalee you know _but_ Irkalla. When Amphitrite came from the Sea, when there became a difference in land and water, it was Ereshkigal and I and who taught her to speak. She learned _‘Nanshe’_ as the sign for the stars as well as she learned her own name for the waters, and all else went from there.”

They were silent for a long moment until the Jagdsprinz spoke again.

“If _she’s_ a King of Honalee, if there are people under the authority of a King _out here_ ,” she snapped. “Then why wasn’t I _told,_ Mayet? _Why_ wasn’t I told to send Jäger-”

“There are _many_ things you have not been told, Sonnehilde Lavinia Costa Beilschmidt, Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor,” Mayet said coldly. “ _You,_ because you do not _need_ to know them; Honalee, because they did not have the proper reference for it yet. There are more things of time and space that you know naught of because it is not _time,_ or because the mysteries are not for you to concern yourself with! Humanity has met truly with Honalee and both have traveled to the stars- and so now is the time to learn of the King Who Left! You will be told when you _need_ to know-”

She paused, and composed herself.

“But if you _want_ to know, Jagdsprinz,” she said, more calmly. “Are you willing to pay the price for that knowledge?”

The Jagdsprinz stiffened in her saddle, and glared, but didn’t say a word about it.

“Who was Ahes then?”she asked. “Honalee thought _she_ was King of the Stars, so why would Ereshkigal allow that lie to stand?”

“Ahes was one of the Ramman,” Mayet said. “Our Star- your Sun.”

“What?” Terenzia’s father asked, echoing everyone else’s thoughts. “Wait- they’re the same-”

“The Ramman are not like the Pict,” Mayet said. “Nanshe is Queen of All _Stars._ The Ramman are star spirits just as much as there are mist spirits and lighting spirits in Domdruharc and Buyan.”

Terenzia glanced around at the lights, feeling a little nervous. _Stars?_ If they were _stars,_ why would they ever leave that? Why give them robot bodies-

“Ahes didn’t look like this,” the Jagdsprinz said. “She was human-looking.”

Mayet conferred with Nanshe for a moment to find an answer.

“It was a mistake,” she conveyed from Nanshe. “The Sun we all know was naturally the first star that Nanshe came across, and the first she Called out of its home. She knew no better and so gave Ahes a body like her own, which proved too confining and limited in its senses for a star. Eventually Ahes could not stand to be around the stars who had bodies they could change on whim, those standing here-”

She pointed out to the city.

“-and others, large and stationary, or ships that could go through space without touching planetside. So Ahes left to return to her Queen’s homeland, and was given Kêr-Is. Its proper name is Shar-is, _‘little Shar’_ ; but Kêr-Is how the people who came to live there called it.”

  The not-really-buildings made more sense now that she knew they weren’t _supposed_ to be buildings, but bodies- but that really wasn’t comfortable at all. She’d been riding through a field of unburied corpses; not abandoned work and living spaces.

It was- well, it was creepy; and Terenzia was very glad that, last she’d known, no one had figured out a way to start deconstructing them for supplies.

 _“Stars,”_ her father-in-law said rather faintly, staring at the lights. _“Stars.”_

Marschall Braginski cleared his throat. Everyone looked over at him.

“So,” he said, looking to Mayet. “Am I correct in thinking, then, that as Nanshe is a King of Honalee- no matter that she has been _absent_ from Honalee for ages beyond counting- that she falls under the Jagdsprinz’s authority?”

The woman took a few moments to think about it.

“Yes,” she finally replied.

 _“Then,”_ the Marschall continued. “Given that they are against the Pict, and _we_ have a treaty of non-hostility and cooperation with the Pict, does that not mean that she and they are _legally and bindingly protected_ from them? And that, as Honalee and humanity have collectively been deeded their client plants- even the systems that revolve around them, perhaps- then they have lost not very much at all? Given that they are covered under the Tripartite Treaty?”

 _“And,”_ the Jagdsprinz said, catching on. She had a look on her face like she’d just thought of something that was sure to put her in a winning position. “I’m pretty sure Serafina’s said that her people managed to assimilate a few Ramman before the rest disappeared. Don’t I have the power to compel her to give them _back,_ under the Treaty?”

Mayet raised an eyebrow, and spoke to Nanshe. Nanshe glanced over at the Jagdsprinz at her words, a slight frown on her face, and gave a reply. Mayet said something back, and Nanshe hesitated a moment before nodding.

“If you can make good on your claim to make the Pict return the assimilated Ramman, Jagdsprinz,” Mayet told her. “Then Nanshe will accept your authority and the Honalenier terms of the Tripartite Treaty. I explained to her as well the terms of protection, and she is willing to allow the deeded planets to stand in exchange for an expansion promise, so that there can be life and trade amongst her stars again; and a formal renewal of the mutual defense in case of attack by the Pict, given circumstances.”

“I’m happy to accept those terms as well,” the Jagdsprinz said. “I’ll have to speak to some people on Earth for humanity- but on behalf of Honalee: we accept.”

“ _So…_ if we’re all on the same side,” Emma spoke up, after a moment of quiet. “Then they have to _let us go,_ right? Because allies don’t take prisoners from allies last time I checked. And I’d like to tell my siblings that I haven’t like, been eaten by alien wildlife or something. That would be cool.”

* * *

Usually Mosé or Luisa was sent to do this sort of thing, but this was too important to send anyone but him. Venice would accept his grandchildren, but Amphitrite Kataiis was better served by a fellow King.

Ivan told them the whole story- Nanshe’s origins, the truth of the Ramman, the events on Theiostea, the grudging way that Serafina DiAngeli had accepted Nanshe and her people as part of the Tripartite Treaty under the terms of Honalee in her quiet, suppressed fury, and the return of the assimilated Ramman by the Pict.

“I must go,” Amphitrite Kataiis said, rather abruptly, breaking the stretch of silence that had ensued after he’d finished speaking. She was clearly somewhat disturbed by this new information. “I must- explanations need to be made, and records and history amended, and people informed.”

Ivan and Venice were left to look at each other in the wake of her departure.

“So you’re going back to Theiostea now?” Venice asked, trying to make small talk.

“No,” Ivan told him. “Diana Agresta has proved herself well there, and your Governor Aita. I was gone for a year and a half, and they successfully kept everyone from self-destructing. Now that there is a promise to colonize the Treaty planets, and an alternate source of help rather than the Pict, I believe the Jagdsprinz intends to break up the Jäger she originally sent to head detachments for the new settlers on other worlds that are soon expected. Apparently there are _humans_ from Honalee who wish to leave, as far away as possible. The Jagdsprinz will be talking with Nanshe and the Ramman, and sending them under the direction of Árpád and Terenzia to Uaclleon. I am to go to the Hills, and handle things there.”

He paused.

“There was some form of trouble there?” he said. It wasn’t quite a question- he _knew_ that there had been trouble, or else the Jagdsprinz wouldn’t be sending him, but the entire situation was very unclear to him. “I ask people, and mumble and look away, or go scared and make excuses to leave. I heard nothing of the Hunt, or felt such while with the Ramman or on Theiostea, so I do not see why the civilians should be acting so. Even some of the _Jäger_ have done so, when I ask them. Granted- they are _Department_ Jäger, and not necessarily meant to fight.”

“It was,” Venice started to say, and Ivan noted with a touch of interest that _he_ was uncomfortable about the topic as well. “Honalee took human slaves, in the past; and the Tylwyth were the worst of it and they were supposed to have stopped ages ago when Jagdsprinz Erlkönig told them to but they didn’t. They kept at it right up until Lana disappeared and England went out to get her back, but there were plenty of humans who were _already_ in the Hills who were technically supposed to be free but nobody was really stopping the Tylwyth from stealing them back into slavery, or tormenting them; or releasing the ones who _hadn’t_ been freed, or freeing their children-”

“I am to oversee the enforcement of anti-slavery laws?” Ivan asked skeptically. He had experience with peasants, sure enough- perhaps the humans had revolted, or were threatening to revolt, and Nia thought he could handle trying to keep everything from breaking out into a complete war. It would explain the sudden amount of humans from Honalee who were hanging about the Jagdshall these days, or joining the Hunt, or moving into Martigny and expressing interest in any future space colonization efforts.

“No,” Venice said. “No- no, Nia already did that.”

And _that_ was the story, Ivan could tell. He waited patiently for Venice to lose his ability to hold back on the subject any longer.

“She-” he said, clearly agitated. “She- _Ivan-_ ”

They were- they were going by _names?_ That-

“She locked down the Tylwyth Court and killed every noble who had ever been involved in the trade,” Feliciano told him, quietly horrified. “She- it was in _cold blood,_ Ivan- she hadn’t called the Hunt, she didn’t challenge anyone, she just- closed them up in a room and _slaughtered_ them.”

“And you were expecting different?” Ivan asked. “Have we not done the same ourselves, in our own times?”

“But I never wanted _her_ to do anything like that!” Feliciano cried. “They- our _children,_ Ivan; they were never supposed to live through anything like that, be involved in anything like that- they were supposed to have long, happy, _human_ lives without war and-”

“Your children lost that long ago,” Ivan cut him off. “Many of them did. They stopped being children decades ago, in the normal way of things- but they stopped being human, in the way we wanted them to be, the moment they set foot in that House with the demon. Some of them stopped being human altogether. Nia was one of them.”

“I didn’t-” Feliciano started to say quietly. Tears were threatening.

“Your children stopped being human as soon as they entered into Honalee,” he told his fellow Nation. “Nia started being every bit a King- a _Nation,_ even- when she killed you in Geneva. She’s had blood on her hands since then, and she will keep adding to it. She is hurt, and _angry,_ and wants revenge on a universe that could take her father from her. You are part of that. You should have known this by now.”

He turned to leave, but Feliciano grabbed his sleeve.

“Please,” he begged. “ _Please._ She won’t talk to me and she won’t listen to me and I’m _scared_ for her- first it was the Camorra, and now it’s _this-_ she’d listen to Zell and Heinrich but Zell is dead and Heinrich will be soon, too. He won’t live another ten years- they could _stop_ her but she won’t have anyone-”

He took a deep breath.

“ _Please-_ don’t let her do something she’ll regret having to live with.”

“What makes you think,” Ivan said. “That I can stop her? She may not be a Nation in name or power, but she is in everything else. A _young_ one, with rage and grief driving her- _you_ knew one like that, once. Loved him.”

“I still do,” Feliciano told him quietly.

“Then you know how much she wants the relief that rage and death and blood-born pain can give her,” Ivan said. “As do I. We were all that, once. Your daughter is no different.”


	8. Feliciano and Gilbert

Heinrich’s funeral was a wet and miserable occasion, as though someone had staged it for the maximum amount of melodrama. It had rained the day before, and things were still overcast. The newer Jewish cemetery on the Lido had appreciable, if mixed, crowd- Feliciano knew that the Jewish population of her city was tiny, but somehow that hadn’t quite translated to the fact that that, combined with the fact that her son had married one of the rabbis’ nieces, meant that just about all of them had met him, at one point or another, and that he or his wife personally knew an appreciable portion of them on more than the basis of casual acquaintance.

She was just happy that _this_ funeral was being held in Venice- Zell’s funeral service had been in Martigny, and she was buried in the Sankt Michelmarc Cathedral’s cemetery, next to Rémy with Louis and Zoé, and she hadn’t gone.

Nia, at least, had not been crass enough to _forbid_ her from coming to her city, or pressure Émilie and Mäelle into sending an invitation out of politeness but asking her not to come- but Feliciano knew that cemetery very well.

It was directly behind the cathedral. You got to the entrance by walking up a path that connected to the Kirchenplatz along the north side of the building, which faced down-mountain. It was gated out of formality- the gate, every time she’d been, had never been locked- and rather large. It had been made with generations in mind.

Immediately inside the cemetery entrance was the memorial plot for the people who had been killed by the demon. The hidden rooms in the original building had only held one body, no matter the number of names under the picture outside it, so there was a large central stone that had all the names without bodies on it. The cross that had surmounted the door was set into that stone.

Whenever she went, she tried not to look at it; but that wasn’t why she hadn’t gone to Zell’s funeral.

Ludwig was the only Nation with a grave.

They _had_ been using the Fire memorials in Berlin, and the house they’d shared- but then Gilbert had seized the house for the VRG government, and the Fire memorials hadn’t ever really been about _their_ loss, anyway.

And going back to Berlin was- it was too different, after the Fire; and wrong, without Ludwig. It was the German Lands’ intelligence service’s city, or its armed forces’ city, or HabéTech’s city. Everything it had to do with _Germany_ was history, now, just like the country.

Zell had been the one to call her and say that Nia had commissioned a gravestone. She’d gone to see it a few days later, in the early morning, once she’d worked up the courage. It was in the southwest corner, Zell had told her, where the park that separated the cemetery from Barrackstown ran up against the forest. The cemetery had been otherwise empty, then, and it hadn’t been hard to find. The stone itself was white, polished, except for the gray of the rock where the German eagle had been carved, centered at the top of the stone, and the inscription

_Ludwig Beilschmidt_  
Bundesrepublik Deutschland  
1867-2048  
________________________________

_Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest_

 

It didn’t say on the stone where the quote was from, but Feliciano didn’t need it. That was Scripture, Gospel- Matthew 11:28, where Jesus was preaching in the cities and promising solace in God’s grace and forgiveness.

Feliciano had brought a few white lilies, bound up in some gold ribbon, because not bringing anything wouldn’t be right, but bringing something more personal had seemed like asking for trouble. She had no idea how often Nia came down here.

She’d knelt down to place the lilies on the small platform the upright part of the gravestone sat on, which was included for the purpose of left flowers; but once she’d gotten that far her knees hit the grass of their own accord and she ended up sitting there, atop a grave that didn’t technically exist because there had been nothing to bury, remembering a different verse, the first part of Psalms 9:5- _‘You have rebuked the nations’_.

“I’m so sorry,” she’d said quietly to the stone. “I messed everything up and I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you-”

She’d sat there until one of the deacons had come out to check the cemetery, and then fled.

When Zell had died, she’d gotten an invitation from Émilie and Mäelle. She had been going to go, but then Nico had come down to see her in her office.

“Do you know where they buried Rémy?” he’d asked. Feliciano had nodded, because she’d been there for _that_. Nia hadn’t been- she didn’t know if her daughter had been busy, or if Zell had asked her to stay out of it, because she’d known that their mother was showing up.

“Well, they’re putting Zell in next to him,” Nico had told her. “So they’re all going to be right near- you know. Nia’s going to be there and I’m not going to tell you _not_ to come, I’m just going to ask you what I asked the General- do you think you three could be right by Germany’s grave and _not_ behave in a way inappropriate for a funeral?”

 Feliciano was upset that Nia hated her and it was frustrating when she insisted on blaming her for things that she’d finally come accept _weren’t_ her fault- like not realizing what the demon was doing, or getting rid of it herself before it could hurt anyone- and there was a definite guilty dread that came with having to see Nia or Gilbert; but mostly there was just a persistent, thorny sorrow that the family had fallen apart and that some of it was none of their faults- none of them had killed Ludwig- and some of it was all of their faults- letting their grief further poison an already bad situation- and that some of it _was_ actually her fault- she’d lied, she’d committed adultery and duplicitous bigamy, and she’d never had intention of confessing to it and if things had fallen out differently, if Ludwig had lived but Amphitrite had been free to come to Earth again, then she would have kept trying to cover everything up.

And, besides that sorrow, there was the constant weight of the grief and regrets she lived with about Ludwig. She’d gotten better at not paying attention to it; but she was never going to _forget._

Zell’s funeral, or Ludwig’s grave, was the last place she was going to start yelling at either of them. _She_ usually didn’t do much yelling, anyway- _they_ were the ones who liked yelling at _her-_ but there was only so much she could listen to before she snapped back.

And she wasn’t sure she trusted that she trusted that one of them _wouldn’t_ start something, if they were all there.

She loved Nia and she couldn’t imagine _that_ ever stopping, and she still had some familial feeling for Gilbert as Ludwig’s adored older brother- but it was hard to trust them about some things now, and getting harder to forgive them each time they ended up in a fight. It was better for everyone if they just didn’t interact.

So she hadn’t gone to Zell’s funeral- she’d come after, and silently apologized, and cried alone in the cemetery, like she always did for Ludwig. Later, she’d heard that Gilbert hadn’t gone, either.

But both of them were here for Heinrich’s funeral, five years later.

She could have found it funny if it hadn’t meant that Heinrich had died, because it said right there in his will that he wanted all three of them to be there and behave themselves because they hadn’t been for Zell; and when Adriana had thrust it at her face to _prove_ that it said that to her, Feliciano had been able to _hear_ her son saying a final, unwritten _‘fuck you’_ to his sister. Nia was Jagdsprinz, and a will was a legally-binding document. Heinrich had written that he wanted his sister and his uncle and his remaining parent at his funeral; and so as Jagdsprinz Nia was compelled to come and behave, and obligate the two of them to do the same.

They were still avoiding each other as much as possible, though. Feliciano was staying with Adriana and Gilberto, who had unsurprisingly but tellingly not brought his latest spouse. There was clearly going to be another divorce, soon, but at least this one wouldn’t add to the mess of half-siblings of marriages that hadn’t worked out.

All of Berto’s children were there- Juraj and Jagoda, the twins from the first marriage to Krešimir-from-Trieste and also Jagoda’s husband Dmitar and their daughter Marka; Enzo from the second to Zénaide-from-Nice; Cyril from the third to Teofila-from-Prague; and Rosario from the absolute _mess_ that had been his almost-marriage to Hauptmann Sacha Alexoseniyivna Allard, a fey Martigny-Buyanov Jager who’d managed to exercise some good sense last minute and break off the engagement. Mosè and Luisa, who hadn’t been at _all_ looking forward to the drama their brother’s relationship inevitably ended up embroiled in being so close to home, had been quietly relieved that their brother had gone off to Canada to try to start his life over for the fifth time.

They’d come, of course, but they were sticking with Nia to act as social insulation between her and Feliciano and Gilbert. Nia had come with Arik, but _he_ was over with his grandfather, serving the same function as his cousins- so it had fallen to Cyril, newly-joined in the Hunt himself, to bring Rosario to their grandfather’s funeral.  For all of Berto’s faults when it came to maintaining marital relationships, his relationships with his children had been excellent, and Heinrich and Adriana had always made certain to be around, as well. Some people just weren’t meant to be married, and hopefully Berto had _finally-_ now that he’d hit sixty, and the rest of the family had known it was the end of another decade without a looking at a calendar for the past fifty years because they got notified of his divorces _that_ regularly-realized that he was one of them.

If he hadn’t, Feliciano might just sit him down and _tell_ him to stop until he listened.

Mosè had brought Zorya, because they’d finally stopped trying to avoid the fact that they liked each other and had started dating. It had taken them thirty-something years to admit it to themselves; but they were Jäger. They had that sort of time.

Feliciano wasn’t sure she _liked_ them having that sort of time. Out of three generations of her descendants, fourteen of the eighteen were still alive- and eight of them were immortal, or close to it. Nia and Arik and Luisa and Mosè and Mäelle and Cyril were in the Hunt, Marlies and Philipp were under Empress Xī Wángmŭ’s favor in Kūnlún- and eventually Rosario, if the trend of families being drawn further into the Hunt the more time went on held, would likely join as well. His mother was Jäger, and his aunt and uncle and great-aunt, and his half-brother. He was growing up in Martigny. The odds against him joining were not favorable.

So in twenty years or so, it would be nine- and that wasn’t counting if Émilie’s Emildis or Louis Rémy, or any other siblings they might obtain in the coming years, _also_ chose to join.

From her own experiences of losing Zell and now Heinrich, she couldn’t call herself unconditionally happy that so much of her family was going to have to live through losing the relatives who _hadn’t_ joined the Hunt. It was hard enough outliving parents, let alone siblings or children.

Erzsébet talked about János, sometimes, and how he was holding up. He wasn’t falling apart at the seams, by any means, but he was having the most difficulty. Nia and Nico’s children were in the Hunt, and Lana hadn’t had any family outside of her mother and grandfather- both dead, now- but most of the people János knew and cared about _weren’t_ in the Hunt, and were all dead now or about to die. In a few decades, it would be Csaba’s turn, and Erzsébet had told her that she was _hoping_ he gave in and joined the Hunt, so he’d have some sort of stable environment to get to know people who’d live alongside him through however many decades and centuries he ended up seeing.   

The funeral itself was not tremendously long. In the custom of Jewish funerals, most of the guests retired with the mourners to Heinrich and Adriana’s house for the Seudat Havra’ah, a meal prepared by community members for the deceased’s family- but Feliciano parted ways with Adriana and her children there. Gilbert left for Berlin, without talking; but she didn’t see if Nia stayed to go with Adriana or left as well. Feliciano had gone because she thought that Nia might stay with Adriana and her brother’s children; but perhaps she was as unsure of her place in a Jewish ceremony as a Catholic as _she_ was.

Either way, she went back to her set of rooms in the Palazzo Pisani Moretta alone. She would go to Adriana’s house every day for Shiva, instead.

* * *

Gilbert kept a list on a loose sheet of paper tucked into the back of whatever blank book he was currently using as his diary. It went like this:

_Cassiel (Pietri Beilschmidt) Navin, 2013-2089, 76_  
Lucas Jones, 2012-2090, 78  
Vincenzo Fidele Agresta Fernandez, 2010-2091, 81  
Anatoli Ivanovitch Braginski, 2014-2093, 79  
Pavel Laurinaitis, 2013-2096, 83  
Rozete Laurinaitis, 2012-2096, 84  
Nikephoros Karpusi, 2013-2097, 84  
Rémy Fabrice (Bonnefoy) Beilschmidt, 2010-2099, 89  
Miervaldis Galante, 2014-2103, 89  
Maria Gisela Costa Beilschmidt, 2010-2106, 96  
Irene Walker (Kirkland), 2013-2107, 94  
Honda Tomoko, 2015-2108, 93   
Catarina Constantia Agresta Fernandez, 2011-2109, 98  
Ásdís Geirsdottir, 2014-2109, 95   
Heinrich Marco Costa Beilschmidt, 2014-2111, 97  
Giuditta Ferrero Agresta Fernandez, 2012-2112, 100  
Giovanna (Beilschmidt) Pietri (Navin),2014-2112, 98   
Halya Sadekivna Adnan, 2017-2114, 97  
Wang Zeng, 2011-2114, 103  
Øystein Brynjarsson, 2016-2117, 101  

Today, 14 July 2119, he added the last name:

_Zacarías Echemendia Villaverde, 2017-2119, 92_

That was everyone- everyone else had been before Cassiel. China’s daughter and America’s daughter had died before even Vasco, one tortured to death and the other shot on the job; Vasco had died in the House; and Grażyna didn’t count. She was a traitor to her family, and he wasn’t even sure _when_ she’d died. Feliks, who had never said that much about her after she’d disowned him anyway, hadn’t said a thing about her once the trial of Hanna Schumacher and her co-conspirators and accomplices had concluded.

Gilbert thought that maybe that was the day he’d considered her dead; just like he counted the day Nia had convicted Cassiel to be his son’s death.

He folded the paper up neatly and put it in his pocket, then went to get breakfast.

“Hey Don,” he said as put some things together. “What’s the latest on Blazek and Marciana?”

“I don’t see why you’re still watching them,” Ladonia half-complained, shimmering into view from one of the projectors he must have had installed at some point. He’d adjusted his holographic form some years ago so he looked like he was in his mid-twenties, instead of his mid- to late-teens. The outfit of white jacket and washed-out indigo scarf he’d just scaled up- those never changed, and it wasn’t often that his shoes weren’t black or his pants a warm grey; but his shirt was rarely the same. Today it was blending through shades of purple, and he’d pushed the unbuttoned sides of his jacket back to show it off. “They’ve barely done _anything_ since they put out their manifesto three years ago.”

Three years ago, a document had appeared online, and printed on a press operating in Venice. It had been titled _A Treatise on Government by Nations: The Genists’ Manifesto_ , authored by a Blazek della Croce and a Marciana Venexiana.

Gilbert had taken one look at the title and had Don start to dig. It hadn’t taken very long to prove that the authors were using pennames- they were Błażej Łukasiewicz-Väinämöinen de la Cruz, son of Oskar Łukasiewicz-Väinämöinen and his Cuban wife, a former diplomat to the VRG he’d met while his father Armas had been Chancellor of the VRG; and Marka Costa Mata, one of Gilberto Costa’s granddaughters. Błażej had moved to Venice with his brother Emil in 2114 so they could attend university- Błażej at Ca’ Foscari and Emil the Benedetto Marcello Conservatory.

Twenty-one-year-old Błażej had met his nineteen-year-old fourth-cousin twice-removed- Gilbert had taken a look at the massive family tree Cassiel had been so proud to figure that out, because wanted to have all the specifics for when he recorded it in his diary- Marka in a political science class they shared. They’d apparently hit off very well, and had some very _intense_ political feelings inherited from their families, because two years later they’d written their _Manifesto,_ and now two years after _that_ they were working their way towards a political following. The _Manifesto_ had been popular in the Republic of Venice and Cuba and Martinach-Liechtenstein, naturally; but it was gaining traction in some other places, as well.

It had caused a particular disturbance in the Nations themselves, and from what _he’d_ been told, it was drawing up some personal political lines that were making things slightly uncomfortable at UN meetings.

“Błażej’s got citizenship in the VRG,” Gilbert reminded Don. “If he gets himself in real trouble, it’s us and Cuba who are responsible for him. Marka’s family. And I don’t trust him _or_ her to keep themselves _out_ of trouble. So what have they been up to?”

“Them?” Don asked, affecting disinterest. “Absolutely nothing. But Emil got engaged to Caoimhe last night.”

Caoimhe was the selkie Emil had been dating. If they were getting _married-_

“We did _not_ need that, Don,” Gilbert said. “The _last_ thing I wanted was for that movement to get stronger ties to Honalee. It’s bad enough that Marka’s Feliciano’s great-great-granddaughter and she’s got family in the Hunt- they’re _already_ basing part of their argument in Honalenier thought.”

“Most of it’s not, though,” Don pointed out. “Most of its-”

“I know _exactly_ where most of it came from,” he growled.

He was happy that Zell had decided to pursue an international political career. He was glad the United Nations had seen fit to create a Department of Nation’s Affairs at her petition. He was glad that she’d made it her life’s work to compile all of the legal and social precedent that existed on Nations so that she could reference it in her work, and use it to improve their lives.

He was no longer _quite_ so happy that she’d gone and _published_ the damn thing, and then built it into the core curriculum of Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein’s Honalenier Studies department. It had taken until the department had graduated its first class for anyone else to really notice that it existed- but those who had noticed were all people who had very niche interests in international law and politics.

Błażej and Marka had noticed; and read it; and then gotten _ideas._

“If you’re going to do any work before your meeting,” Don told him. “Then you should start now.”

Usually he did some paperwork, or looked over some in-progress cases, before he went for his monthly meeting- but this one was a little different than normal, and now he was in a bad mood.

“I’ll just go early,” he told Don. “Send me anything I need to know.”

“Like I ever do anything else.”

He grabbed the book sitting on the hall table and stepped to Rome.

Usually, this meeting was just him and Cristoforo, out at a particular café Cristoforo liked that was away from the tourist crowds, but today Lovino and Antonio were coming too. It was still in the same place- Cristoforo had just reserved their regular table outside instead of the two of them showing up and hoping that it was free.

Gilbert was the first one there, so he took his seat, put the book down on the table, and ordered his coffee.

It hadn’t arrived yet when some sullen-looking teenager sat down next to him.

“Move it, kid,” he told the boy. “I’m waiting for company and I don’t want anything you’re selling.”

The teenager pulled a bored half-sneer and said: “Yeah, I _know_ you’ve got company coming.”

“Then fuck off,” Gilbert said. “We’re going to need that chair.”

“You can grab another one.”

“This is a _business_ meeting-”

“He’s with me, Gilbert.”

He heard the resignation in Cristoforo’s voice and turned to look at him.

“Who the hell is this?” he asked, jerking a thumb at the boy.

“Nia’s newest,” Cristoforo sighed. “And _please-_ do not swear in front of children.”

“ _I’m_ the Republic Protectorate of Rome,” the teenager said. “ _Elti_ named me Michele. And I don’t think I’m supposed to like you.”

“Did he come like this?”

Cristoforo sighed again.

“Michele, be polite,” he admonished. “Yes, Gilbert, he was naturally born with this much sass- and as a teenager, too.”

“Huh,” Gilbert said. “I didn’t think we did that.”

He reached into his pocket and handed Cristoforo the list. He unfolded it partway, saw the names and dates, and then folded it back up again. It went into his own pocket.

The waitress turned up with his coffee order not very long after and took Cristoforo’s and Michele’s.

“What are you reading?” Michele asked, reaching for the book.

Gilbert slapped his hand down on top of it before the boy could reach it.

“He will learn soon enough, Gilbert,” Cristoforo said quietly. “Come September, it will exist in more than advance copies.”

Gilbert scowled, but reluctantly lifted his hand. Michele slid it over the table so it was lying in front of him.

“Why is a psychologist writing a book about Nations?” he asked.

“Because he was _our_ psychologist,” Gilbert told him.

Michele frowned a little, and opened the book, searching for the first page with words.

“But there are laws-”

“We told him he could.”

“We told him he _should,_ ” Cristoforo corrected, quietly watching as Michele found the Introduction and started to read.

“Who’s Rémy-”

“He’s dead,” Gilbert cut him off.

“What about Francis-”

“He’s dead too.”

Michele looked up from the pages.

“Is _everyone_ in this book dead?” he demanded.

“No,” Cristoforo told the boy. “I’m in it, and Gilbert, and Lovino and Antonio who will be coming soon. Marschall Braginski, as well; and Zaubleutnant Agresta and your _Elti_.”

Michele brightened up, just a little, at the mention of his parent and her Jäger.

“Is it about her?”

“It is about a lot of things,” Cristoforo temporized, and Michele went back to reading.

It had been one thing to agree that Keld Schumacher should write a book in the immediate aftermath of the Tripartite Treaty, when they’d all been reeling still and trying to cope with the concept of humanity _and_ Pict _and_ Honalee and international politics and when even, it had felt like, the future of the entire planet had still been on the rocks. They’d been desperate to have control of _something;_ and their own lives and the truth of how they’d gotten into this whole situation was a good start.

It had been easy, once the last draft of the book had been put together and the edits had been done and everyone was satisfied that the truth was down as well as they could remember, to look at their children, especially the ones who were still hurting and struggling to adjust to a new world and new roles in politics and family dynamics, and say: _“not yet- let them learn. We shouldn’t cut their feet out from under them before they’ve managed to stand.”_

It was hard now- with a series of strong established states that _they_ had a central role in making and holding together, after an institutionalized and finally-respected Wild Hunt, after the Italian Civil War, after the scandal with Cassiel, after finally making it to space and with plans to go further very, very soon- to continue on.

When Keld Schumacher had told them that he had less than five years left but he was _still_ sitting on the book, Zacarías was the last living child who was going to die- and they’d known he wasn’t going to last many more months.

Somehow, they-

Well, it wasn’t really _they,_ any longer, not the way it really should have been for the book- they hadn’t been expecting so many Nations to _die_. Of the primary people who had originally been consulted for permission to write and release it, there were only sixteen left: himself, Cristoforo, Feliciano, Lovino, Antonio, Feliks, Dietrich, Marco, Ivan, Yao, Erzsébet, Liesl, Nia, Nico, Lana, and János.

Erzsébet and Liesl had had the easiest job- they just gave permission for Roderich and Sebastian, as the surviving family. They had no secrets to hide, and every reason to want them remembered.

Cristoforo’s portion was all on the demon and the House, and trying to manage his family as best he could. There was no way he was going to come out of this with his personal reputation tarnished. There had been no hesitation on his part to approve his own involvement.

Marco and Yao didn’t have secrets, not really- everybody _knew_ how Marco had taken over his country, and the connection between what had happened to Korea and Hanna Schumacher was technically a matter of public record, even if nobody had ever cared enough to look.

Nico’s history wasn’t really secret either _-_ Nico and Diana had been all over the news during the Civil War for their part in the Purge, and the story of their marriage and the way they’d been attacked had mostly come out. On the same token, Lovino and Antonio had no reason to hide their involvement in it, either. Lovino’s feud, especially, would now come as no surprise to Earth.

Lana was a public figure now, and after the slaughter in Nicnevin’s Court her story would now just be one among many of known human kidnappings by Tylwyth, and the one that had turned out the best.  

Ivan’s and Feliks’s parts of the story were just- awkward. Ivan hadn’t supported Luka Pajari or the Russian Reform Party, which history looked favorably on now; but he was also no longer Russia. He’d graphically proven that he was certainly not on the Reform Party’s _opponents’_ side by any stretch of the imagination, and held a high position in the Hunt. He wasn’t _untouchable,_ but his sins, such as they were, seemed small. Feliks’s daughter had been a collaborator, but that was very clearly not on him, and Teodozja and Armas’s stories would be seen now as a nice prelude to the public careers they’d had with the VRG.

The mess with Dietrich and Ludwig had never been public information, but Gilbert had been surprised by how easily Dietrich had agreed to letting the public have it.

“There’s no one alive who matters enough to me who remembers him for it to turn into an issue,” was what Dietrich had said. Gilbert had had to bite back a surge of resentment- he _knew_ what Dietrich was trying to provoke with that, and the point he’d been trying to make. Gilbert, Feliciano, and Nia _were_ important- but they didn’t have anything to do with _him,_ not the way they once had _._

By declaring it didn’t matter any longer if people knew, Dietrich was able to put the final distance between the memory of Ludwig and his own life. Nia was a sort of friend and an equal to him- not Ludwig’s daughter. Gilbert was his General and the head of the intelligence service, respected in his expertise and work but nothing else- not a mentor, or a teacher, or family.

Feliciano was nothing.

János had a more difficult job- he wasn’t speaking for himself, but for the company he’d been a part of. Certainly no one would be surprised at Cass’s negligence, and there would likely be sympathy for Ásdís and Øystein and the mess they’d landed in; but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t affect HabéTech. But Ásdís and Øystein had always done their best to be truthful and transparent where they thought it was safe to be, and had run the company in the same way- so in their memory, and the way they would have wanted it, he’d said _“yes”_ to their portions.

He’d then immediately fled off-planet, fresh out of the sündeyalagch training Cherendai Temurev had given him, to go spend some time on Uaclleon, the planet the Hunt had just settled with a mix of Domdruc and humans who wanted _out_ of Honalee, to escape the eventual release of the book.

Gilbert didn’t blame him. _He_ felt like running away, too.

Not because he’d done anything wrong- he’d been _right_ to handle Heinrich and Johannes and Nikolaus and Ludwig the way he had; and he wasn’t ashamed of any of the political maneuvering he’d done to make sure the VRG got established. He’d done it before, with more blood, to make certain that Ludwig could get a fighting chance. He was a military commander, and a politician- a tactician and a Nation. He was underhanded and ruthless when he had to be, and he was proud of that, because he could do it without losing his morals.

The media firestorm that was going to surround the release of this book was just going to be a _pain._

Nia would probably _enjoy_ it. It would give her a chance to finally publically denounce both of them, and talk about why she was right. Her part in this book was a triumphal story of revenge, after all, with some touching scenes between her siblings. She was Jagdsprinz now, and had proven herself both good at the job and completely unmovable in her resolution to uphold her lawful duties and obligations. This wasn’t going to shake her foundations one bit.

But he had no damn idea how _anyone_ had convinced Feliciano to agree to let the book go into print in two months. It was full of personal skeletons and dirty secrets, and Feliciano was running his own country. This was the sort of thing that forced people to resign their office because of public opinion and then quietly fade away in a haze of disgrace, in democracies.

But the Republic of Venice wasn’t completely a democracy, was it, he thought sourly. It was what Błażej and Marka called _“a Genist state”,_ from the Latin for Nations, _Genii Locorum_. You could have democratic systems in a Genist state- or monarchal ones, if you were going to take Martinach-Liechtenstein as an example- but it stopped being a pure democracy once you left the Nation in charge.

Lovino and Antonio showed up to talk after the second coffee order had come in, and Antonio waved off the waitress when she started to hover, concerned. South Italy still hadn’t found its feet, and Lovino showed it. The waitress left, and Lovino, who had been forcing himself to sit straight and upright, slumped a little. Gilbert could see Antonio’s arm move slightly, and he was probably holding the other’s hand under the table.

Antonio didn’t pay any overt attention to Lovino, though- he just looked pensively at the book Michele was still reading, for a few good, long moments.

“So,” he said eventually, and there was an extended silence until Gilbert realized that he wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Two months,” Gilbert offered.

“Yep,” Antonio agreed, and fell silent again.

“I’ve been wondering,” Gilbert said, to stave off the conversation dying completely. He hated how he had to do this, now. He was head of an intelligence service, and his old friends- the ones who weren’t _dead-_ couldn’t _talk_ to him any longer, in the interests of national security. They hadn’t been able to in a while. All of his information about how they were doing and what was going on came to him through Don, or Cristoforo. It was the only thing he regretted about kicking the German Provisional Government into shape. “Who convinced Feliciano to give the go-ahead for the book?”

“What makes you think _we_ had anything to do with it?” Lovino asked.

“You expect me to believe that he decided to commit character suicide _himself?_ ” Gilbert asked skeptically. “Somebody had to push him.”

Lovino snorted.

“Good to know you don’t know _everything,_ ” he muttered.

_“Excuse-”_

“Feli did it himself, Gilbert,” Antonio cut into the might-have-become-an-argument. “Nobody talked him into it.”

“Nia didn’t even try to beat him over the head with it,” Lovino informed him. “Don’t look at me like that- _I’m_ the one in this fucking cesspit of a family that she still _talks_ to.”

“We are in _public,_ Lovino,” Cristoforo said disapprovingly. “And you should not talk about your family in such a way.”

“It’s the damn truth,” he retorted. “It’s _exactly_ like a cesspit- its toxic, nobody else wants shit to do with it, and we try not to talk about it in polite company.”

“It’s _Nia’s_ cesspit, then,” Gilbert said.

Lovino shot him a dirty look.

“Did I fucking say she wasn’t shitting in it?” he demanded. “But it’s not just Nia- it’s _her,_ it’s _Feli,_ it’s _you,_ it’s _Cass_ \- for once, _I’m_ the only one who didn’t fuck anything up.”

“Nia _started_ it-” Gilbert tried to concede, keeping a tight rein on his tone.

“No,” Lovino cut him off. “You and Feli are the ones who started it. Nia’s the one who won’t let it fucking _go._ This shit passed out of _‘grudge’_ when she killed Feli in Geneva, and then _‘feud’_ when Zell and Heinz _died_ having spent almost half their lives trying to hold this whole damn mess together. It’s a fucking _vendetta_ now.”

“Lovino-” Cristoforo said warningly.

“I didn’t think I’d ever say something like this,” Lovino continued, clearly meaning to have his full say. “But it was better with Ludwig around. This family-”

He stopped momentarily, face twisting at the word.

“Me and Antonio, the dysfunction you and Cristino and Rahel had- that was anchored in Ludwig and Feli.”

Lovino started drawing little diagrams on the tabletop with his fingertips, for illustration.

“We could have lost Feli- hell, you all could have lost _both_ of us- and held together,” he said. “Because that would have left Ludwig and Antonio all fucked up, and it would have been _you_ two-”

He looked pointedly at Gilbert and Cristoforo.

“-who were friends and used to leaning on each other a long time before the dysfunction to try to hold _them_ together. We could have lost Antonio, and it would have been Cristoforo and Feli coming to me, and Feli would have dragged in Ludwig, who would have dragged in _you._ We could have lost _you,_ and it would have been Feli holding your brother together, and dragging me and Antonio into it while-”

Lovino looked over at Cristoforo.

“Well,” he admitted. “I don’t know how you would hold up through that. But everybody would have made it out intact. But we _couldn’t_ lose Ludwig, because you-”

Back to Gilbert.

“-and Feli wouldfall _apart,_ not _together._ Maybe if there hadn’t been all that _other_ shit going on, Zell and Heinz and Nia could have held you two together, and Cristoforo. But having lived through all _this?_ I fucking doubt it. You and Feli have always had Ludwig between you- even when it was the Risorgimento, you supported Feli because it was going to help Ludwig. Without him-”

He shrugged.

“Neither of you have got anything to lose,” Lovino concluded, and settled back in his seat, point made.

“Feliciano has _plenty_ to lose,” Gilbert argued. “Which is why _somebody_ had to convince him.”  

“Gilbert,” Antonio said. “Did you stop to think about the fact that Feli’s got a guilty conscience? Think about what _you_ would do, to try to make up for the things _you_ still feel guilty about. Does this seem so strange now?”

He really didn’t want to think about that.

“You’re all _really_ messed up, aren’t you?” Michele said, perturbed. He’d stopped reading the book at some point, Gilbert realized suddenly.

Cristoforo sighed.

“It is considered polite,” he told Michele. “To pretend you have not noticed.”

* * *

Why he forced himself to continue reading the book, Feliciano had no idea. It was torture, and it hurt without providing any sort of closure or release; but he couldn’t stop.

At least, now, he was almost at the end. The advance copies had gone out in July to Schumacher and the seventeen of them, and for a while he’d been worried that he wouldn’t have finished going through it in time to look over _exactly_ what the media was going to throw back in his face.

None of it had been anything other than what he expected- except he’d found a section in the sixth chapter he’d missed, in all of the approval readings which he _knew_ he hadn’t done very thoroughly because _God,_ this hurt-

_“And it’s a toss-up,”_ Gilbert was quoted as telling Keld Schumacher in that chapter, during his first visit to the Nations he’d been hired to handle. “ _If Lutz or Feli is more motherly because for all that Feli needs to be a woman sometimes Lutz_ broods _like some great big hen.”_

Feliciano hadn’t-

He had _completely_ missed that; and people were much better at gender _now_ than they had been seventy-one years ago and he didn’t have a government who _ruled_ him and could give orders, he had his own power and no one could take it from him-

But he was not _ready-_ oh God he was so not _ready_ \- to have that discussion.

He probably never would be ready, but now his own negligence meant that he _had_ to address it.

This was the second-to-last chapter now, at least; so he wouldn’t be suffering through it much longer.

Feliciano picked up the book and started from where he’d left off, last, at the beginning of a new section. He wasn’t conscious of reading the words without really _reading_ them- even though he did that often, with this, and then had to go back over entire sections- until a phrase jumped out at him.

_“I’m so proud of you, Lutz.”_

Wait, what?

He skipped back to the beginning of the section and actually _read_ it this time. The Hall of Mirrors- a coronation- Versailles? Was this the crowning of the first German Emperor at Versailles? What was _that_ doing there, where had Schumacher gotten it, Ludwig was- by this point in the retelling, the Fire had already happened.

_“The rush jolted Nia out of her father’s memory”_

He skipped forward, frantically.

A piece of parchment-

Binding circles-

Seals-

_Memories-_

He didn’t read the rest of the chapter, not now. The book said that she’d put it in her saddlebags and taken it with her on the Hunt but _where had it ended up;_ it would be in character for Nia to have kept it but if _she’d_ kept it then-

Feliciano skimmed the rest of the pages frantically; until near the end of the book-

_“This is all that is left of Heinrich Adler, and Johannes, and Nikolaus, and Ludwig Beilschmidt,” she told him. “Keep it safe, Christophorus Petrius.”_

Cristoforo had it.

_Cristoforo_ had it.

Feliciano put down the book and started pacing his rooms, shaking, trying to even out his breathing and his heartbeat. He could feel everything going erratic, and his own thoughts-

It would have been one thing if Nia had kept it. If Nia had kept it, he would have known he would never, ever be able to see-

To see what was left of his husband.

He could have put it out of his mind, as best he could, because it would have been impossible.

But Cristoforo had it.

Cristoforo, who didn’t _approve_ at all of what he’d done, but who had never begrudged him support or advice. Cristoforo, who still tried to offer peace and comfort in God. Cristoforo, who wanted nothing more than to put people’s souls at ease.

Cristoforo- who would let him _see it_ , in hopes that it would provide some sort of closure; or start a new, more thorough stage of the healing process.

Feliciano had to sit down on the floor, eventually, because he was shaking too hard to stay standing safely. Blindly, he reached to his throat for the chain of Ludwig’s Iron Cross, and the wedding rings he’d strung on it- Ludwig’s on one side, his own on the other. He clutched at it, trying to think.

_Think-_ he’d spent seventy-one years thinking that there was nothing left in the world of Ludwig but Dietrich’s too-familiar face and voice, hidden and changed now over the years with hair that stayed down and glasses with designer frames and an accent that trended naturally towards Swabian, not Berliner.

He didn’t- he couldn’t-

He clamped a hand over his mouth and fisted his other into his diaphragm, making it deliberately hard to breathe so he had to think about it, and do it deeply to get enough air.

If he stayed here, he was going to shake himself to pieces, shattering into a panic attack.

Feliciano went to the Vatican before he could tell himself not to and tried to keep the shaking down to a trembling in the hands, fingers, heart.

Someone went to fetch his brother for him, when they recognized him.

“Cristoforo,” he said, when the Vatican turned up. “ _Cristoforo._ I- I need-”

“Sit down,” he was told, and his brother guided him into sitting down on his bed. “Feliciano-”

“I need to see it,” he gasped. “I need to- the thing, that Nia gave you, the- the _memories-_ I was reading the book and I hadn’t-”

“She did not-” Cristoforo started to say, and then stopped himself. Sorrowful resignation crossed his face. “No. No- of _course_ she would not.”

Feliciano didn’t see where he went to fetch the parchment, because it was out of his field of vision and he didn’t have the concentration to turn his head _and_ maintain what composure he’d managed to retain so far.

The parchment was square, maybe two feet to a side, and Cristoforo handled it like it would break if he touched it too hard. He sat down next to his brother, on the bed, and carefully smoothed it out over their laps.

Feliciano reached for the outermost ring and felt his fingertips brush parchment and ink.

The memory he got wasn’t as identifiable as the one in the book. It was just a moment in the achingly-familiar Berlin house, the home office from Ludwig’s point of view, sitting at his desk and doing paperwork. There was a little whine, and Ludwig glanced down at Berlitz, who was looking up at him imploringly, and reached down to pet the dog.

He came out the memory with Cristoforo lightly removing his hand and telling him, gently: “Those are not yours.”

Feliciano was shaking again and Cristoforo folded the parchment back up and placed it off to one side on the bed so his brother could topple over into his lap.

“I,” Feliciano wheezed, holding back tears.

“I know,” Cristoforo told him quietly, and started softly stroking his hair. “Crying will hurt nothing, Feliciano.”

And so he did.

* * *

Gilbert was hiding, and he wasn’t proud of that.

The book had come out yesterday afternoon, and he’d gone into work that day just as normal. He’d left a bit early, but that was it. He still watched the online news programs, he still set his alarms, he still _acted_ like he was going to be going into work the next day.

But he didn’t.

He woke up regular time, got dressed, and started to cook breakfast. While the water warmed up to boiling, he unhooked the wifi router, and turned off the wireless data on his phone. If Don needed him, Don could text him.

He sat down to breakfast with his laptop and some files and did some nonessential paperwork. When he wanted some noise, he used the music storage program that came with the laptop, instead of finding a radio station that could be interrupted by a news segment or a talk show.

Lunch was small and simple, and then he turned the music up even louder and dusted, vacuumed, aired out the rooms and washed every surface in the kitchen and bathroom. That took him until mid-afternoon, and then he did his laundry.

Dinner took a long time to cook because he _could._

After dinner was finished and cleaned away, Gilbert tried to distract himself. He didn’t really want to read a book, not when he was specifically _avoiding_ one; but lying on his bed or the couch and not doing _anything_ was just clearing his head for the things he’d been _trying_ to avoid, like-

_He_ knew he was right in what he’d done, but other people, people he worked with and just the general public- were _they_ going to side with him? It was the Jagdsprinz speaking, after all, or at least that’s what it _looked_ like. Gilbert knew it was part Nia and part Jagdsprinz, but would anyone let him explain that?

How pissed off were the PR departments at him? He kind of wished that Arik was still in charge of the Hunt’s intelligence service _and_ its public relations, because that would make this easier. Was- oh, who was it who was in charge of public relations down there now? It was someone- English? Scottish? It was something Scottish- Ian! Ian Lusk, _that_ was it.

The one thing he _wasn’t_ worried about, but which he knew just about everyone else was, was the fact that the book revealed the great secret of the VRG’s intelligence service- Don.

Gilbert knew that nobody was going to get around Don, no matter if they knew he was the Internet or thought that _‘Donner von Maskinsjälen’_ was the pseudonym of a cadre of particularly talented, annoying, and quite honestly terrifying hackers Gilbert employed. No one could get rid of him, and no one could stop him without completely disconnecting every computer they ever used from the Internet and only exchanging information between computers on portable external storage, and received mail and communications the analogue way. No government was going to do _that-_ the loss of access and the ability to smoothly operate with anyone else vastly outweighed the possibility that the VRG was taking a look into their computer systems.

Well, it wasn’t a possibility- Gilbert _was_ having Don do that. But a lot of it they just didn’t care about, or didn’t even look for. There was only so much data it was humanly possible to deal with, or even analyze. In some ways it was easier, since they could get details and the big picture much more effectively; but in other ways, with the sheer _amount_ of data that could be collected, it was a major drawback.

The only thing he was _really_ concerned about with Don was, again, the public relations. Citizens didn’t take well to the idea that they were being spied on. It was one thing to intellectually know that your data online was being collected and stored somewhere- that was sort of… impersonal, and people generally trusted that individual websites and companies didn’t care a whit about what they did except for figuring out what they could sell to the people who visited their sites. But there was an emotional impact to knowing that the _government_ had that ability, and having the media yell about it for a few days straight.

Gilbert had asked Don if he wanted to be cut from the book, but Don had insisted that truthfulness in the historical record was more important. In a way, Gilbert agreed with him- the operating policy of the GfL was that the more open and honest you were about the things you did, the more likely the public would be to forgive any mistakes you made and trust you to do well and fix things when you didn’t. It had worked pretty well for them, and held them to a definite standard so that they could maintain their image, even if it made some things more difficult.

Gilbert was not at all above reminding the GfL they had an image to live up to if it kept them honest. Self-centeredness was useful, here.

He couldn’t stop thinking, so against some of his better judgement, he called Erzsébet.

“Look, I’m not calling as my job,” he said as soon as she picked up. “Talk about anything you want. I just don’t want to hear anything about the book.”

“Tired of the media racket?” she asked.

_“No,”_ he told her. “I took off work and haven’t gone _near_ the Internet or any news outlets, and _now_ you’ve got me worried. Just- I don’t know, how are your horses doing? Have you heard from János lately? Where’s Árpád nowadays?”

“Árpád is on Uaclleon,” Erzsébet told him happily, and Gilbert let her talk of the foundation of the colony gently wash away any thoughts he had about the book.

He could deal with it tomorrow.

* * *

Feliciano had wanted to leave what she’d named in her notes _‘Media Coverage Hell Press Conference’_ to happen if- when- the people who were inevitably going over Schumacher’s book with a fine-toothed comb for political reasons until someone decided to bring up the _‘needs to be a woman sometimes’_ line; but after she went to tell Amphitrite about it, her wife had dragged her to her secretary and commanded that a surprise press conference be held that very afternoon.

“I- no, no, Amphitrite,” Feliciano had said frantically, still shaky over her coming out and working on reconciling Amphitrite’s non-issue about the topic with the disaster scenarios she’d unsteadily been braced for. “It’s too _soon_ I’m not-”

“Will you confront this directly?” his wife had asked. “Or shall you leave it to the free press? I have learned plenty of things being involved with your Republic, and one of them is the perfidiousness of media coverage. Honesty has served the German Lands well, and people find the way that the Jagdsprinz simply _declares_ things to reporters with questions to be oddly charming. So-”

She gave her a little push back towards her rooms- shared, for a few days, while Amphitrite stayed in Venice for the book’s debut.

“-go put on a nice dress, or if you do not have one appropriate for the press, then do something with jewelry and makeup. The reporters will be here in an hour and a half.”

Feliciano grabbed her trailing sleeve.

“They’ll want to know about Ludwig,” she blurted, giving voice to her other fear. “They’ll ask- I-”

Amphitrite grabbed her spouse’s chin.

“They know everything they need to,” she said firmly. “We are married, you strayed, I have forgiven you.”

“I still love him,” Feliciano told her.

Amphitrite sighed, and dropped her hand.

“How long,” she asked. “Will you persist in thinking that that makes the _slightest_ bit of difference? You are not leaving me, so I do not care.”

_Feliciano_ cared, but she bit back her reaction and went to get ready. Amphitrite was going to win this one- and she was _right,_ besides. Being proactive would mean she got some degree of control over the conversation about herself, no matter how much she absolutely did not want to have anything to do with reporters about this.

There were dresses appropriate for every sort of formal occasion in the closet hiding place she’d stashed them- mostly unworn, bought to fulfil the fantasy that one day she’d be able to wear them out in public, to dinner and state occasions- but that was too much, today. It was the first time she was going to be saying anything, and there should appear to be room to, well, not _compromise_ exactly, but perhaps adjust.

A woman’s pant suit would be the best middle ground here. Feliciano dithered over the color- the red she wore out sometimes to nice bars in _very_ foreign countries was too attention-grabbing, black would be far too Hunt-coded in the wake of the book, and cream was just- out of the question. If she wore that, _someone_ would make a comment in some article somewhere about her lack of purity, moral and otherwise. The tabloids would have enough to go on without all that.

So it was the most neutral light gray with a white shirt and black shoes- women’s loafers, not heels.

A scarf, should she wear a scarf? She could just have the Venetian flag pin on her lapel but there should be some sort of color-

And earrings, diamond studs would be properly tasteful but she also had some other small things, more designer, and she should present herself as fashionable shouldn’t she-

There was makeup, too, and how involved should that be? Definitely not too much but not enough could be even _worse_ of a disaster- to make this point she _had_ to pass perfectly but for it to be acceptable it couldn’t _look_ like she was trying things were better but not _that_ good and institutions were always the slowest to change standards-

Her secretary came up to knock on her closed door and tell her that things were scheduled to start in forty-five minutes and the first reporters were expected in about twenty minutes and that people were already speculating about the topic.

Forty-five minutes was not _enough_ and how _dare_ Amphitrite just _decide_ to do this because now the announcement had gone out and she couldn’t _stop_ it but going into it knowing that _you_ were going to be the one technically in charge was better than letting someone throw the question at her later she _knew_ that but _she was not prepared._

She called Lovino and begged him to come over and he was a _wonderful_ older brother because he dropped everything he was doing and came over.

“Your wife is an asshole,” he grumbled to her as he arranged the red scarf around her neck. The flag pin was the same color, and so he’d searched through her jewelry until he found a piece she’d forgotten she had.

One birthday- not the day she’d celebrated with Romano, but the traditional mythological date of the founding of her city- Ludwig had given her a gold scarf pin of the Lion of St. Mark to go with a set of earrings of the same, with little ruby eyes on all three, to wear when she went out in her female clothes. It had been a little not-joke, a smiling admission of hope that one day she could be open enough about herself that she could wear patriotic jewelry.

After Ludwig died she’d shoved them away into a corner pocket of her jewelry case and done her best to forget about them.

It was a good thing she hadn’t started to do any makeup yet, because she was tearing up and that would have ruined it.

She _couldn’t_ cry right now she’d be on camera in twenty-five minutes and there was makeup still to do and she’d have to have at _least_ five minutes to try to pull herself together-

Lovino, of course, noticed the few tears she wasn’t able to swallow, and knew her well enough to put together that this was something else in her life that had something to do with Ludwig.

“Do you want something else?” he asked.

“No,” she told him. It was- fitting, that when she came out to the world, that she was wore Ludwig’s hope that it would happen, one day.

If only he had lived to see it.

He would have been proud, Feliciano knew, so she had Lovino fasten the scarf with the pin and put in the earrings herself. The makeup was a bit of a rush job, ten minutes for foundation and concealer and do something quick with her hair, conscious again of the mixed blessing of her not-especially masculine facial structure. It was useful sometimes, like now, but sometimes she hated looking at it.

“Sit down,” Lovino ordered when he looked in the bathroom and saw her staring desperately at her own face in the mirror. She sat down on the toilet seat, and he carefully removed some.

“I get what you were trying to do,” he said. “But you’re too- I’ve seen you when you’re going out, and you look like you’re going out. You don’t look like _yourself._ You hide under the makeup, and you can’t do that today.”

He finished, and Feliciano took another look in the mirror, and- it wasn’t as much as she would have wanted, and she wouldn’t have gone out like that, but Lovino was right, a little bit. She _did_ hide under the makeup, usually, because she was always scared of being recognized, even when there was a vanishingly small chance that anyone would have known her face. There were a few things she always did to disguise herself that she’d done without thinking about it, out of habit and for the psychological comfort of it.

She felt exposed without those subtle changes in the contours and shadows of her face, but she did look like all she was doing was cleaning up a little before going on camera.

At ten minutes until scheduled start time, Lovino walked with her down to the room in the Palazzo that had been set up as the permanent press conference area. Amphitrite was waiting for her there, and clearly intended to go up in front of everyone with her.

Lovino took his sister’s hands and kissed her briefly on both cheeks.

“I can’t go up with you, _sorellina,_ ” he said. “But I’ll be right here and if they start giving you shit I’ll kick their fucking teeth in.”

That was a little funny, and Feliciano found a weak smile on her face.

“They’re _my_ children, _fratello,_ ” she told him. “So that would be _my_ job.”

“Should they dare lack respect,” Amphitrite said, the confidence and disdain of true imperial authority behind her. “They shall regret it.”

She swept into the conference room to begin the event, and Lovino rolled his eyes at his sister, a clear _Honalenier Kings and their superiority complexes, am I right?_ and gave her another brief kiss, this on the hair.

Feliciano placed a hand on the scarf pin Ludwig had given her, centered over her heart, felt the bumps of the Iron Cross and the old wedding rings beneath the layers of cloth, and walked into the cresting rise of noise that greeted her unexpected appearance.

* * *

Gilbert was going to crash a UN meeting.

Technically, he had never been _un_ invited to the UN Nations’ meeting, but he knew he wasn’t welcome the way he once had been. He also had no _reason_ to go, now that he wasn’t coming along with Ludwig- not to attend, anyway.

But he came fairly often to the time _after_ the meeting, immediately after the business of the day was done, to ask questions; and if it made him feel better to call it crashing then he could call it crashing. He knew his limits, and everyone else knew that if they didn’t want to or couldn’t answer his questions, he wouldn’t press. Gilbert’s questions were tolerated, and his presence somewhat welcomed by the older European Nations, who were usually glad to have an acquaintance.

Gilbert smiled briefly at Liesl when he came in today, shaking his head a little to tell her they could talk later. He had business before Liechtenstein filled him in on how Nia and Arik were doing.

China had clearly not been expecting to be the person questioned today.

“So,” he said, sidling up next to Yao. “Just how important is the Reform Movement?”

Yao spent a moment looking askance at him.

“It’s not _that_ important,” he said after a moment.

“Is that what you think?” Gilbert asked. “Or is that what you want your government to think? They’ve definitely gotten a copy of Schumacher’s book by now, and they know your opinions.”

“It’s not that important,” Yao repeated.

“So there’s another reason Tai jumped the contested border to Hong Kong at three in the morning two days after the book came out and took a fast boat to Taiwan?” Gilbert asked. “And that every picture he took went directly from camera to his photojournalism site on a wireless uplink without getting saved on any SD card? Or that his niece is hanging out in the west with difficult grassroots organizers instead of staying on the eastern coastal cities, where the movement leadership is?”

 He had been less than happy to learn, from Don, that Tai and Mattea Wang were getting involved in Chinese politics. It was bad enough he had _Seelenkind_ descendants messing around in Venice without having to keep track of people on the other side of the planet, as well.

“It’s _not,_ ” Yao said for a third time, now with emphasis and a tightness in his voice that Gilbert knew well. He’d had it, in his day- as had any other Nation who’d ever had to spout a lie they hated. “That important.”

* * *

October 2119, two months after the book had come out- long enough that it didn’t look like he was running away- Feliciano went to Regina Caeli.

He’d never been, before, and so this was a sort of a state occasion.

He and Amphitrite could get there much faster than a year-round trip, now, which was another reason why the visit to Regina Caeli was happening now. In the thirteen years since the Hunt had run across Nanshe and the Ramman, the Ramman had been able to provide quite a wealth of knowledge about faster-than-light travel.

It turned out- characteristically, _annoyingly_ \- that Cassiel Navin had been onto something, with the burst drives that had powered every real human spacecraft so far. That was based on Pict junk, of course; and in comparison with what the Ramman handed over, it was _clearly_ still junk.

But the Ramman’s methods were- incomprehensible. Feliciano had followed it as best he could, and from what he could tell the physicists and mathematicians were following it as long as it talked about the Ramman gates being some sort of access point to space-time warps, but then everyone collectively lost the thread of the math. The numbers apparently added up, but they didn’t make _sense._ The general consensus seemed to be that it wasn’t likely to be anything that humanity could duplicate anytime soon, if ever. Cassiel’s junk was still the way to go, and would be for the foreseeable future.

Feliciano, personally, had suspicions- and all of them went back to Nia. He strongly suspected that the reason the math for the Ramman’s gates didn’t make any sense to human scientists was because they didn’t bend space-time _between_ them, but were simply access points to Honalee space- to Shar. The math didn’t work because the Ramman were exploiting the time dilation and uncertainty of distances between Earth space and Shar to travel at what seemed like faster-than-light speeds. Nanshe was known to be able to connect Earth space and Shar, after all, so it wasn’t really a stretch. The time dilation and uncertainty of space was altered by the distance between wherever you were and the nearest open connection between Earth and Honalee- the problems of communication between Martinach and Ordon Khot or Lanka Kubera or Hawaiaki was testament to that.

He trusted, if that was even the right word, that Nia could have deduced this; or that someone at the Workshop would have been able to, and that the Hunt was therefore withholding key information. Even if they weren’t doing that, they were probably withholding important observations- and in a way Feliciano couldn’t blame them. It was their job to police Earth-Honalee traffic, and right now the only place they had to worry about was Martinach. If people started tearing holes willy-nilly into the boundary between the two, it would be a disaster.

And, if _they_ could figure out how to do it themselves, they could have a fleet of their own, which wouldn’t operate the same way as anyone else’s- an advantage.

Regardless of this, though, at least trying to puzzle the Ramman’s gates out _had_ produced a wealth of information that could be applied to the burst drives, so now they were much more powerful and efficient. And the Ramman had, after a decade of discussion and conference amongst themselves, set up a gate for Earth access on the other side of Mars. The only drawbacks were that Earth only had the coordinates to get to Theiostea, and that it would only take small ships- nothing colony ship-sized would ever get through.

But for a trip out to Theiostea, and then from there direction by the Ramman through a different set of gates to anywhere else that needed going to, it was ages faster. People were still uneasy about having to rely on non-human powers to access colonies, but eventually they wouldn’t _require_ them any longer. It would be a matter of a couple centuries, maybe closer to a thousand years- but humanity _would_ catch up.

For now, all Feliciano and Amphitrite needed was to get to Theiostea and Regina Caeli, and that was a straightforward two-day process.

They were met at the Regina Caeli spaceport by Leutnant Adalram, who had taken over the Hunt garrison here when Ivan had been moved to the Hills to handle the Tylwyth and Diana, Árpád, Terenzia, and Magda Eisenhart to Uaclleon, and Governor Aita. There was a procession, of sorts, to the government building- now a _proper_ building, and not a converted drop ship. By this point in Regina Caeli, with its massive and prosperous outlying farms and the environmentally-conscious factories and fabrication and assembly plants, was a fully self-sustaining colony, helped along by the presence of the Ramman and the ability of the Hunt to send personnel and supplies through the World Gate. The only thing they traded with Earth for, now, were luxury goods. If a catastrophe cut them off from the rest of humanity, they could survive without chocolate, Earth-brand goods, and space flight. It would be harder to deal with the eventual breakdown of motorized vehicles and computer parts, which were still imported- there just wasn’t the population yet to support plants on Theiostea- but it was still survivable.

Feliciano and Amphitrite got a tour of the town- more of a city, now, complete with rural towns further out in the farms and the mines- and the other places within easily-accessible distance. They saw the nearest farm fields on the other side of the river, and the salt farms over the hills, and ship yard in the bay that made Feliciano smile and smile and smile because the Regina Caeli spaceport hosted a warehouse for trade with the Pict _and_ they had a healthy water trade with the foreign-sponsored settlements up and down the coast of the continent.

He’d wanted to go to the stars to make up for the sea he’d lost- and here were new seas, ripe for the taking. The stars, foreign waters, a home base on Earth- yes, he could _work_ with this.

The ship yards made him so happy that he left Amphitrite to do some visiting with the Thálassians who had settled here on her own the next day, so he could go look at the ships again.

Regina Caeli’s ship yards built in wood and canvas and hemp, in the strange asynchrony of technological levels that the Hunt shared. It was more economical, and benefited planetary development, to trade between the colonies on the surface rather than put everything on a ship, fly to another part of the planet, and descend back into atmosphere; but the technology base wasn’t up to metal ships yet.

So it smelled of sawdust, and pitch, and dry canvas dust and the salt of the sea, and Feliciano closed his eyes and took a deep breath and _smiled_ again because this was _home;_ this was what he’d lost so many years ago, the smells and the sound of the ocean and the construction of ships.

He stayed there for some hours, through the lunch break, just listening and watching, sketching on his tablet after a little while, and then talking with people as they stopped for lunch.

It was _good_ this felt _really really **good-**_

The third shift was on lunch when it occurred to him that it still felt wonderful, and these people were his, but there was a- distance, between them and him. At first, he thought it was a Honalenier-inspired fear-tinged reverence for a King, odd in the minds of humans; but then he took careful note of the slang the workers used with each other, and the ease with which they discussed the local issues and landmarks, and the civic pride they had in being able to show off like this, to him, and that _they_ were the first settlement so far from Earth and the first to be visited by their patron government back on Earth.

He thought about it, that phrase _“patron government”_ that one of the workers had used, and then hopped off the retaining wall he’d been using as his seat, and let his feet take over.

Feliciano was unsurprised when he found the barefoot young girl in the simple white dress in the hills, overlooking the ship yard, the bay, the salt farms, and city itself with Nanshe’s palace and the farms and factories surrounding it. These coastal hills were massive in height, and this was the tallest one. On the clear days, or after the fog had burned away, like today, you could see for miles in every direction.

Feliciano dropped himself into the scrubby, gravel-filled grass next to the rock the girl was sitting on, at the summit of this highest hill.

“I’m the Second Republic of Venice,” he told her. “Who are you?”

“You don’t have to introduce yourself to _me,_ ” she said, looking over at him. “I know who you are. I’m Regina Caeli.”

Feliciano beamed and scooped her up off the rock. She squeaked.

“I _thought_ so!” he exclaimed happily. “It’s very nice to meet you, Regina Caeli, how are you doing? You seem like you’re doing pretty well to _me_ but it’s always good to ask. Are you new? Have you been here long? Has anyone given you a name yet?”

“I’m fine,” Regina Caeli said. “I-”

Her face wrinkled in thought.

“I,” she said uncertainly. “I just got here. You’re the first person I’ve met. Was I _supposed_ to meet someone else I can go-”

“Oh no, no, you’re fine!” Feliciano reassured her brightly. “But that means no one’s given you your other name yet, so _I_ get to!”

“I _like_ my name,” Regina Caeli told him, perturbed. “It’s who I am. I don’t _want_ another one.”

“It’s not a replacement,” Feliciano assured her. “You just get two- they get used differently, different people and times and places. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

He thought of the ship yards, and the joy of renewed power.

“I think I’m going to call you Renata,” he said. “How do you like that?”

“It sounds fine,” she told him, frowning a little in confusion. “Put me down?”

Feliciano did.

“You’re a lot more articulate than most new Nations are,” he complimented her, chattering as he led her by the hand towards the city. “And mature! I guess it comes from being a colony, in space, so far away and almost on your own- oh, I hope you don’t get lonely out here, the Jäger would probably let you through the World Gate to come visit the rest of us if you wanted t-”

He stopped, frozen; not yet to the downward slope of the hill that would take them towards Regina Caeli.

Nia was sitting there, in full armor, on Arion, where she hadn’t been only a few seconds before.

Feliciano hadn’t know she was going to be here. Someone should have _told_ him-

No, no. This wasn’t planned, was it? A new Nation was grounds for her to turn up, just as she had for the newborn European states and Asian Russia. Of course she’d come here for the same purpose.

His hand tightened on Regina Caeli’s and he forced brightness into the: “Renata, this is Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor, my daughter.”

   Perhaps the _‘my daughter’_ wasn’t the wisest of moves, with the way Nia glared at him like she was trying to will him into damnation, but it was a good reminder- for both of them. They were family, still, even it wasn’t… _working._

“You named her already?” the Jagdsprinz asked.

“I found her,” he told her. “Of course I did. It’s what you do. Were you expecting me _not_ to do it?”

That had been a purposeful little jab- Nia could say what she liked about his personal life and the way he handled his family, but _this_ was off-limits. He knew his rights and duties when it came to young Nations, and she would _never_ find any real reason to fault him for it.

“I’ve been doing it,” she told him curtly.

“Well,” Feliciano said, and it was hard not to give her the same sickly sweet smile he’d perfected for his political enemies, the one he wore when he knew he was winning- a battle of words, a treaty negotiation, or simply upstaging a rival. It was the same smile he’d used when he kept himself alive during the Unification Wars, assassinating the other Italian states, and he had _standards._ He was _not_ going to smile at his daughter like that. There were still boundaries in this feud, and _he_ wasn’t going to be the one to break them. “She’s _my_ colony, Jagdsprinz. This is how it’s done.”

They weren’t going to fight in front of a new Nation, not in so many words, but Arion stamped at the ground in reaction to the slight to her pride and the prerogative she’d claimed for herself.

Feliciano wanted to open his mouth and tell her _“Too bad, Jagdsprinz, there are traditions and traditional rights here going back for longer than even **I** have been alive, so deal with it,” _and was about as half ashamed of the thought as he felt he should be. That he felt any shame about it at all was a warped sort of emotional victory.

“I have to talk with her,” the Jagdsprinz said, jerking her head at Regina Caeli. “Nothing you don’t already know. You can leave.”

“I’ll stay, thank you,” he told her. “I’m taking her to see her people.”

He looked to Regina Caeli.

“Just come get me when you’re done, okay?” he asked, and then moved away some feet.

That was all the concession Nia was going to get from him. New Nations _did_ need to know what she could tell them, and it would be a strain neither of them needed if they kept forcing themselves to talk to each other; but he wasn’t going to _leave._

The Jagdsprinz was done not long after, and left.

“You don’t like her, do you?” Renata asked on the way back to the city.

Feliciano smiled at her and hoped, for her benefit, that it didn’t look as strained as it felt.

“I try to like her,” he told her. “But it’s really difficult sometimes.”

* * *

By the time of Blazek della Croce’s marriage to Marciana Venexiana in December 2119, twelve planets had settlements on them.

Theiostea, of course, was the first and oldest- Venice had been the first but not the only to settle on Theiostea, and few other countries had grabbed land elsewhere on the planet; though far away from Regina Caeli and the Ramman’s heartland.

Uaclleon was second, and the first of the Honalenier worlds to be settled. Well, _‘settled’_ for a given value of _‘settled’_. It wasn’t that any of the planets could boast a _large_ population, but the Honalenier in general were not very enthusiastic about leaving Honalee. By and large, it was the not-quite-Steppeans who used the word because they had no true King and no true Kingdom, and the Domdruc, looking for more space; or the more adventurous Thálassians; or, as on Uaclleon, the humans fleeing Honalee. There was an entirely-human town there, broadly ringed by Domdrusk harkrene dotted with smaller, mixed human, Domdruc, and Steppean villages.  

Haero and Helike were settled as a pair, human worlds grabbed by other states now that Venice had passed them over for first settlement on Theiostea. Venice put their next colony on Uydoystrara, one of the only Treaty worlds that shared a system with another- Uxcilia, another Honalenier possession. The Hunt put Honalenier on Uxcilia with significant difficulty, and only because Uydoystrara was being settled.

Qecarro, another of the worlds Venice had passed over, was a bit of an oddity. Theiostea was still primarily Italian, with some late-come other European settlements, but everyone seemed happy to let Venice keep Theiostea and Uydoystrara and their ties to Honalee. Haero and Helike had also been European ventures, helped along by the Ramman and what Gilbert was privately calling HabéTech’s _‘Desperation Fund’_. They were selling a service-space travel and settlement- that not many could actually afford. They were the only people in the business, but that didn’t mean much when it took states having actual long-term planning to save up enough to buy a ship, and then more to organize a colony settlement plan and purchase everything needed to actually make it work. If HabéTech was going to stay in the space business, they had to help their customers along.

But Qecarro was the first non-European settlement program. It was technically a NAFTA venture, but it was- perhaps inevitably- primarily American. The first city, and so default capital, was named Santa Fe, because some people were a little too invested in the idea of space as the Wild West. Then there was Mystic Falls, and Yukon City, and Nueva Juárez, and Ciudad Quecarino, and Limoilou, and Lasqueti, and Auburn Gresham- between the three countries, there was enough money and enough population to make it the planet with the biggest population density.

They were clearly trying to set it up as a trade colony- not in Venice’s way, but as a hub of trade between the newly-settled worlds. Gilbert had an idea of how Feliciano had responded to that, which was not well at _all_ and since he could definitely have his way about things now Regina Caeli and Uydoystrara _would_ be giving Qecarro a run for their money- but Qecarro looked like it might be beat out by Traevsabr, which was another oddity. This was a corporate colony, with settlements sponsored by specially-created stock companies, in much the same way of the New World colonies of old. This was worrying, to Earth, because they were _international_ stock companies, and no one was really certain who they were supposed to be answering to. There was an uneasy sort of feeling that they were self-governing, and that if they claimed sovereignty, no one would be able to stop them.

The next three planets- Uvchade, Iohines, and Algarth- to be settled were a reaction to Traevsabr. These were UN-sponsored ventures, drawing from all of Earth for their settlers and supplies, and as such had success almost as fast as Qecarro had. They were perfectly respectable, colony-wise, and the UN was putting together other such missions to send to Haero and Helike, since they already had infrastructure in place and hadn’t been unofficially _‘claimed’_ , the way the others had. 

Erdriea was the latest planet to be settled- news had returned to the VRG only a few weeks ago that their settlers had landed and started their farms. Ivan had actually been the one to bring it, on his return from a survey of the other Honalenier planets.

“They are doing passably well,” the Marschall told him. “I visited, and stayed long enough to pass on some advice and help a few days with the farming.”

“Find anything useful?” Gilbert asked, trying to be casual about it. He’d tried to find out why Nia had sent him on a tour of the other seven Honalenier planets, but evidently she’d only told Ivan her reasons in person.

_‘He was traveling in a small, personal ship,’_ Don told him through his earpiece. Gilbert made himself keep a straight face, and hoped that the other Nation knew him well enough to elaborate. _‘Much smaller than anything I’ve ever seen on file with plans for. I have no idea what it runs on, because as far as I know the Hunt never purchased a burst engine from HabéTech. They still try to buy basically **nothing** from HabéTech, even though Cassiel Navin is gone.’_

He’d ask his question after Ivan left.

Ivan just smiled in that infuriating inscrutable way he had, which had always made people feel uncomfortably like he was plotting ways to kill them, and told him that _yes,_ he had found some useful things.

“Don,” Gilbert said once he’d escorted Ivan out. “Could the Hunt have reverse-engineered a burst drive? Nico is in pretty close with János, and the Workshop is still the only place that’s really set up for research into magic, specifically.”

That was a possibility, Don agreed, and said he’d look into it.

The next morning, all he could give Gilbert was the information that one of the factories in Martinach had been given over the Workshop a few months ago, quietly.

* * *

25 April 2122 was just an _awful_ day, made worse because she had expecting to be bad, but not _this_ bad.

25 April 2022 was the day she and Ludwig had been married in Berlin. They’d been living together since the end of the 2009, since that had been when the de-Nationing had occurred, and all their children had been born, but the law had only gone through in 2021 and they’d jumped right on it.

This would have been their hundred-year wedding anniversary, and they both should have been there to see it.

Feliciano had been prepared for an awful day, because computing that date was simple enough math; but she’d made the mistake over lunch of also counting the number of years it had been since he’d died and-

15 September 2122 would make seventy-four years since Ludwig died. They’d gotten together in 1974 and 1974 to 2048 was _also_ seventy-four years.

Today was their hundredth wedding anniversary, and a little less than five months Ludwig would have been dead as long as the total amount of time they’d let themselves love one another.

She told her secretary that she was done for the day about an hour after lunch ended, and slunk back up to her room. Amphitrite found her crying into her pillow half an hour later- they were supposed to have met that afternoon, and Feliciano had forgotten all about it.

She didn’t really want to talk about this with Amphitrite, but she’d promised she was going to be honest, so-

“I don’t understand,” Amphitrite said once Feliciano had finished forcing herself through the explanation of why she was crying.

“I’m _grieving-_ ”

“I know that,” she interrupted. “That has been abundantly clear since we reunited. What I do not understand is why you never _talk_ to me about it, and so I must time and time again find you crying in secret or suffering in silence. I think-”

She paused, and Feliciano looked up from her pillow to see her tilt her head a little to the side. She left her crown off in Venice, unless she was coming for a state occasion or an official visit as Empress of Polí Thálassas and Queen of All Waters, so her long black hair shifted with her movements.

“You have changed since I last knew you,” she said. “And certainly people change, given five hundred years, but it is _me_ you have changed with. I thought it was just the changes of having been apart for so long, and that we would relearn each other in time.”

She looked at her hands, in her lap, and Feliciano sat up, pulling her blankets with her as best she could to stay huddled in the warmth and psychological comfort.

“But when I read the book,” Amphitrite told her. “I realized that you acted the way the Venice I knew once with others, and the person I married with Ludwig, but not with _me_.”

“I- didn’t know you’d read it,” Feliciano said.

“You forced me to,” she said. “I knew the story, broadly- but you never _talk_ about Ludwig, or the life you had with your children, so I had to read it to learn about them. And that is shame, Feliciano, because I think I would have liked Ludwig.”

Feliciano kind of wanted to say _“You **would** have?”_ , but that didn’t quite seem right, so instead she said:

“I’m married to you and I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Ludwig. I didn’t want to hurt you any more by talking about him, or- getting emotional.”

Amphitrite sighed.

“Feliciano,” she said. “I do not remember you being this… _dense,_ last I knew you.”

“What?”

She turned to her.

“I have been telling you,” Amphitrite said to her. “For seventy years, that I do not care if you love him or not; but that you _abandoned_ me for him. If you had come to talk to me when you first fell in love, we would never have had a problem. _‘Sharing’_ is not the same thing as _‘losing’_.”

Feliciano stared at her a moment, wide-eyed, and then realized she wasn’t breathing. She tried to, and her throat closed and she choked on a new bout of tears.

“You,” she forced out. This was too much. This was- _two centuries_ of lying and emotional turmoil and regrets and trying not to think- “You should have just _said_ that!”

“A thousand years ago,” Amphitrite told her sadly. “I would not have had to.”

“This isn’t the 1200s any longer,” Feliciano said, trying to sniff back more tears. She was getting a headache and more crying wouldn’t help that. “It’s the 2100s.”

“Yes,” she said, placing a hand on the blankets Feliciano had wrapped herself in, where one of her knees was. “But are they that different? Society and technology has changed, but we are together again and unless I am very much mistaken, you are coming up on a second Golden Age among the stars instead of the seas. The only thing-”

She paused.

“The only thing,” she said again. “That may have changed, is- do you love me?”

“I do!” Feliciano said immediately.

“It doesn’t much feel like it,” Amphitrite said. “People have been talking, since the book- they know about us three now, and the words I said to you before Nia became Jagdsprinz. They say our relationship is a show, a sham, to save face. And it _feels_ like that to me, Feliciano, because so often you keep me at arms’ length!”

“I’m sorry,” Feliciano told her, tiredly resigning herself to the bitter guilt welling up. She used to be _good_ at relationships. “I- I was trying to get over Ludwig, before- I didn’t think it would be fair, to try to put our relationship back together when I was still grieving something I shouldn’t have had. I didn- you don’t deser-”

“You will _never ‘get over’_ him,” Amphitrite cut her off. “You love him and you will always grieve him to some degree. Sometimes it will be better and sometimes it will be worse. But if you _love_ me, that should come with the trust that I will be there to _help_ you with that! When someone loves you and wants to be with you, and you love them and wants to be with you, then _‘deserve’_ does not come into it.”

They were both quiet for a moment, Feliciano waiting to see if she would say anything else.

“Do you know,” she asked after a moment. “Why I love you?”

Feliciano shook her head.

“Because I watched all the Kings of Honalee grow up as my children did,” she said. “I tried to fall in love with some of them- Andvari, because he understood what it is like to live and rule so far out of sight of others; Kaschei Perun, because he was close; Kubera, because he was on the frontier just as much as I am- but it did not work. They paired off with others, neighbors or their own subjects, or my children and grandchildren. I met some Kings of Earth, over the years- many who cared to have anything to do with Honalee were scared of me, or wary, and thought they had to appease me. Some, who depended on the sea for a living, were friends. I knew the Phoenician cities that way, and then some of the Greeks. They enjoyed sailing, and the food they could extract in fish and sea animals and salt, and the money they could make trading oversea, and often they would leave presents for my subjects and I.”

“I was like that,” Feliciano ventured.

“You are,” Amphitrite agreed. “But none of the others _cared_ about my subjects or I, not that way. I met the Phoenicians and the Greeks on the shores of the Sea in Honalee, or because they asked me to come to their ships, or because a nereid or a rusalka or some other took one of their humans to keep. _You_ are the only one who followed any of my subjects to Polí Thálassas, or learned their language, or played with them or spoke to me or _cared_ about us as people, and not for the magic and power we have. _That_ is why I fell in love with you, and still loved you through five hundred years of your absence. Only my children, of anyone else, have ever cared like that. Everyone else has let the awe they should rightly have turn, in some measure, to fear and worship. _Those_ are not appropriate responses.”

 It was impossible for Feliciano not to hear a very familiar, and very similar, story in what Amphitrite said. It still didn’t _feel_ right, but she’d said she wanted to know-

“If you changed the details of the reasons,” she said hesitantly. “Then that’s why Ludwig said he fell for me, too. I was the only one besides his brother to be a friend to him, instead of getting scared of his power or treating his existence like a reason to have a fight. So then because I knew _him,_ I was the only one who thought he could be better than he was, and to stay with him and help him deal with the guilt and shame and knowing that he was _responsible_ for not doing anything, after the war.”

Amphitrite looked like she was considering something.

“Why,” she asked. “Did you fall in love with me?”

“You took me seriously,” Feliciano told her. “I looked like a child but you respected me as a fellow King and as a person. You didn’t think that because I was small I shouldn’t be great. And you knew so much, and you wanted to tell me about the Sea and your people, and you’re nice when you don’t have to be formal and usually kind when you do, and you loved it when I paint and sang and wrote you poetry or made you little glass things or gave you presents I traded for, and you were always happy when I tried to romance you and didn’t laugh like the humans did because I looked like a child trying to behave like an adult and you’re beautiful and magical and regal and just- great.”

“And why did you fall in love with Ludwig?”

Feliciano fisted her hands under the blankets.

“He was tragic and I didn’t want him to be,” she said. “He was- he was kind of like me, if I hadn’t had you; except he _was_ a child trying to be an adult. He was hurting and lonely and trying really really hard to live up to other people’s expectations and trying not look like he was any of that, and he needed a friend, and I wanted him to be happy because he was young and he should have been, still. He was so earnest about everything, and serious, and really committed to do things _right._ He wanted really badly to be a good person and he was sweet and kind and wanted romance but he didn’t think he could show anybody that. But he trusted me enough to be that with _me,_ eventually, and by that time I’d already learned I could tell him _anything_ and he wouldn’t laugh or make fun of me or think any less of me; he’d just give me a hug if I wanted it and try to help me if it was a problem or just _accept_ it, if it was- part of me. He was-”

Oh no, tears again, and she was getting stuffed up.

“Ludwig was wonderful,” Feliciano said quietly. “And I miss him.”

“Tell me more about him,” Amphitrite said. “Please.”

* * *

When Blazek della Croce and Marciana Venexiana’s youngest son Marek was found killed in his apartment in Cambridge in the summer of 2145, only a little after his nineteenth birthday, a note left taped to the wall of the trashed room his throat had been slit in proclaiming the act to by anti-Genists preventing him from becoming politically active while at university, Gilbert had spent some time scowling at his own wall, and then made sure to keep tabs on the other two sons.

The middle son, Felicjan, ran for the Venetian Senate in 2147 under his new, legal, Venetianized homage to his parents- Felician dé ła Venexia. He was twenty-four, and his two-years elder brother Mschislav ran his campaign for him.

Mschislav got on a plane to Beijing three days after Felician won the election. He landed in Beijing and was immediately met by Liu Hai, the Chinese Reform Movement’s chief organizer. With her was her brother Bao, his daughter Lan, and his wife- Mattea Agresta Wang.

Gilbert had grit his teeth and made certain that Mattea, Mschislav, and Hai’s names were flagged in any incoming intelligence.  

In 2148 Liu Hai was found dead in a back alley. Mattea took over the Reform Movement. Mschislav and Lan became her seconds-in-charge.

On 19 September 2149, while Gilbert was mourning one hundred years since Ludwig had died, Mschislav and Lan got married. They started replacing _‘Łukasiewicz’_ and _‘Liu’_ with _‘Liukasiewicz’_ when writing in Roman letters. The Reform Movement started using language out of the _Genists’ Manifesto_ , and their popularity among the people spiked. 

They had their first daughter Hai in August 2151; and their second daughter Ling in February 2153. Keld Schumacher’s _With Sorrow We Accept Our Fortunes,_ in Chinese translation by Mschislav and Lan, was smuggled into the country from the original printing point in Venice and distributed by the Reform Movement.

Their membership and popularity spiked again. People started pulling quotes about Yao’s dislike of government and things about Elke Bastian and _Germanen für Landesstolz_ out of the book and putting them in pamphlets, and on flyers, and spreading it on the Internet.

Gilbert grabbed Yao at another UN meeting to see how he was doing, and give him some advice he probably didn’t need.

“Watch them,” he said. “The VRG got started when the GfL had a big enough push- and your Reform Movement wants to be them.”

Mschislav and Lan were assassinated at rally in 2155, in full view of everyone there, and a riot sparked.

That was a big enough push.

Seven months later, Gilbert arrived in Beijing as General Beilschmidt of the United Republic of the German Lands and met with Yao Wang, President of the Reformed Republic of China.

“They’re lucky,” Yao grumbled over tea. “That I was desperate enough to take the job, and that I have the experience for it. They could have _killed_ me, and then they would have been left with a new Nation who had no concept of government.”

“The only Nation older than you is Iran,” Gilbert reminded him. “It’ll take more than just anotherrevolution or change of government to kill you.”

Twelve days later, he got a call from Iran.

“Let’s have a talk,” she said, sweetly. “I have a house in Shiraz- it’s one of my oldest properties, very nice. Are you free Thursday?”

* * *

They had both tried harder, after the April afternoon they’d spent talking in Feliciano’s bedroom.

Feliciano scheduled more time for visiting Polí Thálassas, and they revisited all the parts of the Sea that he had forgotten about, the nooks and caves and canyons and spires and coral forests, the cliffs overlooking miles of lower reaches and the trenches the sea serpents and giant squid lived in, where the fish glowed in cool greens and blues. They went around the Lagoon, too, both to check on the cleaning and anti-pollution measures and to explore. Feliciano showed her where the old salt farms had been, and they squelched through mud in the marshes and reeds, and went through the water under the boats and Amphitrite would watch with a little smile as he would play tag with the selkies in the Adriatic or hide-and-seek in the canals.

But they made sure there was time the other way, too. Feliciano got Amphitrite some clothes that weren’t her robes, so that she could walk around on Earth with no more notice than a beautiful woman dressed well would usually get. He took her to Bonn, and Köln, and Berlin, and showed her the places where he’d gone to the gay bars, first in drag and alone, then with Ludwig, then just as a woman, and eventually as a man _and_ a woman, with Ludwig or just to meet friends, as words and identity settled further. He took her to the graves of some of his and Ludwig’s human friends from that time, and told stories. He took her to some war memorials, too, for the more painful parts of history, and once to Dachau, which was both a lesson about the second World War and the story of how Zell had had a crisis in her late teens and run away to Paris and Rémy for a week.

They took dinner in Naples with Lovino and Antonio, and lunch in Rome in Cristoforo and sometimes Michele, who was desperately curious about them in the standoffish way of a teenager who thought they shouldn’t be interested in something, but wanted to know what the fuss was about it being forbidden. Amphitrite taught him some simple things about water and magic, and the four of them would sit together by the Tiber near the Vatican and Feliciano and Cristoforo would talk while Michele and Amphitrite worked with the river. He took her to New York on some UN meetings, and she met Feliks and Yekateryna and Erzsébet _properly,_ and joined him in talking to Liesl about Nia without her knowing.

They went shopping in Milan, and Paris, and London, and of course Venice, and were occasionally caught on camera by celebrity-hunting paparazzi. They went to parties, mostly formal state occasions or charity events with other various rich and important people; but there were informal events too. Feliciano put up with Alfred on the Fourth of July just so Amphitrite would understand what he meant when he described something as _‘like an American blow-out’_ , and spent a few scattered, restful weeks with Kiku out in the Japanese countryside, doing nothing much at all. He sketched a lot, the landscape and Kiku and his wife, and did some ink painting with Kiku while Amphitrite explored Earth literature, and the three of them talked about their respective poetry traditions and had some friendly composing contests.

After China’s revolution was over, Amphitrite suggested that they should throw Yao a party. Feliciano hadn’t been expecting the suggestion, and asked Kiku if maybe Yao would like a party, and word got around, and then eventually things turned into less of party of celebration for Yao and more of a small, comfortable get-together of Nations- the sort of thing they hadn’t had since before the Christmas in Martigny where they’d found out the demon wasn’t gone.

Feliciano rented out a place at the foot of Dolomites, and invited a number of people. Yao and Kiku came, and Lovino and Antonio and Cristoforo, and Erzsébet and Yekateryna and Sadık and Marco and Feliks. There were Tino and Berwald, and if Tino and Feliks and Romano and Sadık were along then Dietrich had to be along too. This wasn’t quite as awkward as it could have been, since Dietrich was more settled in himself than he had been and having Dietrich along meant that there was a very good reason not to invite Gilbert. And with Dietrich and Yekateryna and Cristoforo, it was feasible to invite Ivan and Liesl- and Isolde and Michele and Nadya.

Those last three most of the others didn’t know very well, because they occupied the awkward space of older than the new- nobody was really admitting they thought like this, but- _‘replacement’_ Nations, but not a one of them had seen their first century yet. Dietrich could get away with slipping into the ranks of older Nations because he’d had four years of out-of-country living and working experience that gave him a range of knowledge that the other three didn’t; but it would take more time for the others to catch up and join the older Nations.  

But Feliciano was confident in the knowledge that they _would_ get there some day, and therefore that there was no reason that they shouldn’t start being treated like it. So twenty people showed up for an afternoon and evening of talking and food and simple outdoor activities- Feliciano and Lovino dueled each other with rapiers and off-hand daggers for the first time in decades as a reason to show off to the others, and Dietrich taught Amphitrite how to play football, and Ivan and Yao sat the evening out after dinner and just traded looks, unable to keep from smiling about their turns of fortune from barely a century ago, let alone two centuries past.

* * *

Gilbert arrived at Iran’s house in Shiraz to find her waiting for him, China seated next to her on the couch by the coffee table and Cuba in an armchair.

He stopped in the doorway to the sitting area, looked at them both suspiciously, and refused to come one step closer until they told him what was going on.

“The Genists worry us,” Iran said, coffee cup cradled in both hands. “They are… idealistically enthusiastic. They think they have things all worked out, but can’t see their strategic flaws.”

“Nations running countries has worked so far because they have all had _experience_ ,” China continued. “Myself. Venice. Cuba-”

He inclined his head at the other, acknowledging his presence.

“-no matter how young he is in comparison to the rest of us.”

Iran gestured to the free armchair, and Gilbert sat down, a little gingerly.

“So what is this then?” he asked suspiciously. “A complaint meeting about politics? That’s what the UN meetings are for.”

“After our last guest arrives,” Iran told him, and then offered him tea, or coffee. He declined the tea but took a small cup of coffee, and managed to make small talk with Cuba until the fifth Nation arrived.

“Ah,” Ivan said when Iran led him to the sitting room, his hat in hand. “I did not know it was going to be a party.”

Iran had him take the open spot next to China on the couch, and made sure he had something to drink before she began talking.

“We,” she said, indicating China as the other party. “Have called the rest of you because you are the Nations who run governments.”

Gilbert raised a finger.

“I don’t run a government.”

“Yes you do,” China told him. “And yes you _have._ The German Lands wouldn’t exist if you hadn’t kicked the Provisional Government into shape and connived to take Austria and Switzerland down. It was in the book.”

“It was also not the first time you had done it, either,” Iran said. “You did the same for Ludwig, to make Germany out of the divided German states.”

“Maybe you don’t officially run anything besides the military and the intelligence service,” Cuba put in. “The military might not be much but- and I say this only because I know you already know everyone thinks it- your intelligence service is damn scary. If any _human_ had the sort of power you have, the rest of us would be worried about a coup that would turn the German Lands into a military dictatorship. I don’t think Dietrich’s thought of it, but other people have. America gets twitchy when I mention you- it’s hilarious, you should drop by on a diplomatic visit sometime and watch him squirm under the pressure of not being able to kick up a tantrum over dystopian authoritarian illegal surveillance that violates civil liberties.”

“If he thinks- if _anyone_ thinks- that’s what I’m doing,” Gilbert said, scowling. “Then-” 

“We know better,” Iran interrupted smoothly. “You are a nation-builder; and a _Nation_ -builder.”

Gilbert decided he was going to sit and let that significant emphasis stew for a bit. They weren’t wrong- he and Don ran the best intelligence service on the planet, and definitely the best humanity had ever seen. They knew it freaked people out, and they’d embraced that. Fear was an exploitable resource.

“There is a case for Prussia,” Ivan said after a moment, and Gilbert was- he had mixed feelings that it took a second for him to connect _‘Prussia’_ and _‘Gilbert’_. He’d had to move beyond that name, but it was still the foundation of his history. “But I have none of that. I take my orders-”

He smirked, just a little, because there was no way he would never _not_ be slightly smug about the deal he’d made for himself. Just about everyone else was jealous, and he knew it.

“-such as they are,” he said. “From the Jagdsprinz.”  

China snorted.

“Liechtenstein hasn’t exactly been _quiet_ in meetings about what you do,” he informed Ivan. “ _You_ are the one who manages the Jagdsprinz. She may listen to Nico and Diana Agresta, and Lord Hiruz; but _you_ are the one who she doesn’t argue with. Lord Hiruz won’t contradict her, and the Agrestas don’t have the right weight in her eyes to make her think when she’s being stubborn.”

“ _And_ ,” Iran said. “ _You_ are the one who drafted the colony procedures that everyone uses, now. You were made Marschall in deference to your status as a Nation, but now it means something. Lord Hiruz is Marschall over the Departments, and _you_ are in charge of all the Jäger in space. She trusts you to make your own decisions- you run your own set of sub-governments, in her name.”

Ivan thought about this for a moment, then made a little _‘hm’_ of what was probably agreement.

“So then,” he said. “If you are looking for power, in real terms, why is Venice not here?”

Iran and China glanced at each other.

“We knew we could only have Venice _or_ the General,” Iran told them. “And we would rather have the General.”

“A good choice,” Ivan murmured, and Gilbert looked at him askance for a moment, not entirely certain he’d heard him correctly.

“The Genists worry us,” she continued. “With their talk about putting Nations in charge of governments. That is not how we have worked, and there is nothing to say it would not be as disastrous as having bad monarchs- worse, because you could not be rid of them. They have some good points, about our connection to our people, but if this is going to happen-”

“Moderation,” China said.

“The Nation needs to _want_ it,” Cuba agreed, leaning back in his chair. “And they need to have a damn good reason to. Some of us aren’t suited to that sort of responsibility, or leadership. Some of us don’t actually want it. I’m worried that they’ll convince some kid to take it because they think it’d be _cool,_ or _fun._ ”

Gilbert winced. He hadn’t _thought_ about that, in particular, but only because he’d been more focused on trying to handle the idea that these were _Seelenkind_ descendants. The idealization was a bit- worrying. They clearly hadn’t grown up with Nations the way their grandparents or great-grandparents had.

“If that is what is what you are _really_ worried about,” Ivan said. “You must look to space, not Earth. People have brought the Genists’ _Manifesto_ along with them to the stars and there are plenty of settlements ripe for the seizing. There will be settlements beyond those on Theiostea and Uaclleon or Helike or Qecarro to spawn Nations, soon-”

“Wait,” Gilbert interrupted. “There’s more than Regina Caeli?”

“There are five on Theiostea,” Ivan told them. “Renata, Gianmarco, Rosella, Cornelia, and Vinicio. Uaclleon I named myself- he is Katyusha. The UN settlement on Helike is Nousha; and the union of Qecaronese cities is Julienne. I have done my best to make certain that there are Jäger with some experience with Nations, or Kings, or at least a good dose of common sense, to attend them- but I do not have enough for any more Nations who _will_ be born, and I cannot spend all my time babysitting. I have other things to do- importantly, a _very_ unwise decision to deport the Tylwyth who still cause problems to Aphwhion. This solves nothing- they are now unsupervisable, and I must visit often to inspect, and use the rest of my time to cycle around the other garrisons. _Something_ will get by me, and I dread it.”

Gilbert sensed an opening, and gave himself a brief moment to acknowledge the thrill of back-room political deals. This was how _monarchs_ had done things, once upon a time.

“We’re working on finding some way to hook Erdreia into Earth’s telecommunications network,” he told Ivan. This wasn’t technically a secret, but it wasn’t like his government had gone around advertising the fact. “If we could have some cooperation, so we wouldn’t have to turn to HabéTech again…”

Ivan smiled sharply, obviously also pleased by the politicking. 

“Talk to Luisa,” he advised. “And tell her I told you to tell her that she should work with Leutnant Hernandskind on this- _quietly_. Send the message to her through the Federal Ministry of Space Technology and Exploration, so she can truthfully say to the Jagdsprinz that the offer did _not_ come through the military or the intelligence service. I assume you will be embedding Ladonia into your systems?”

“Can’t work without him.”

_“That,”_ Ivan said. “We will have to discuss.”

“This is nice and all,” Cuba cut in, looking at Iran and China. “But what I don’t get is exactly what you want us to _do._ ”

“Temper the movement,” Iran said. “We don’t want them dead or destroyed or discredited- they’re useful. We want to keep some of their ideas.”

Gilbert knew exactly the ones she meant- the ones about the just and proper treatment of Nations, and the place of their voice in their own governments and societies. They were the goals Zell had operated under; never precisely articulated but clear in everything she’d done. In her book, they were barely subtext, and the Genists had picked up on them easily.

“But they cannot be allowed to go _too_ far,” she continued. “And it should be our job- as Nations, with the age and the real political power, to- steer them onto the right course. Subtly. We have money and connections, and this is not a time to be hesitant about using them. Discreet, yes; cautious, yes; but not _hesitant._ Hesitation could cost us dearly, and I don’t wish to see this opportunity slip away from us.”

“We are prepared to wait,” China concluded for the both of them. “We have had a lot of practice in waiting. But we will accept- and all Nations _should_ accept- nothing less than a position of authority where they have no one ruling over them, to issue orders; or a position protected in some way similar to what the Marschall has. We have waited the entirety of human history for our liberty, and the moment to take it for ourselves is now.”

* * *

31 October 2195- the day Nia turned 181, the same age as Ludwig had been in 2048- wasn’t as hard to deal with as 25 April 2122 had been. Part of it was because Nia had done so much to distance herself from her surviving parent; but part of it was also that Amphitrite was here, now.

Feliciano started off the day with her- they both went to Heinrich’s grave, since this was his birthday too, and Amphitrite gave her a respectful distance to talk to her son. She’d tried to be family to Zell and Heinrich and Nia, but by the time Heinrich had died, she’d resigned herself to the fact that Ludwig’s children were never going to think of her as _‘family’_ , even if she was trying. There was too much family history between them for it to ever work out.

After visiting Heinrich, Feliciano let herself be distracted by Amphitrite.  

They walked around the city, Feliciano getting into conversations with tourists and shopkeepers and citizens as they window-shopped, or people-watched. For a little while just before they went to get lunch, they stopped in St. Mark’s Square to sit by the water and just watch the ships. For lunch, they left the city to go to a place in Vicenza; and then after lunch they went to the other side of the Adriatic to a coastal town _just_ on the proper side of the Venetian-Slovenian border, and Amphitrite walked through the shallow portion of the water near the rocky edge while Feliciano half-jumped from rock to rock, balancing as they walked their way north along the coast.

“This is nice,” Feliciano said, tilting her outspread arms slightly to go the next rock, listening to the seagulls. “We should come over here more often. Venice is wonderful, but it’s so _crowded._ Sometimes I miss it a little with how it was, family compounds and fishing boats and all anyone wanted from me was my salt.”

“Too many things to do these days?” Amphitrite asked.

“No,” she told her. “The Senate can do things fine on their own and the executive departments are very well managed. I just miss it sometimes, that’s all. It’s nostalgia.”

“We could take a vacation,” Amphitrite suggested.

“I don’t have _that_ much time to take off,” Feliciano said.

“Why should it not be a working vacation?” she asked. “It has been a while since we last saw Regina Caeli; and neither of us ever been to Uydoystrara, or any of the other planets. We can make a series of state visits out of it.”

That actually sounded like a very good idea to Feliciano, so when she got into the office the next day she ran it by some people, who tentatively agreed that it would be a good idea.

* * *

The next time, after the initial meeting at Iran’s house, that Ivan got back from his tour of duty on the colony worlds, Gilbert got a message from him.

_‘We need,’_ it read. _‘Someone who is more connected to the Italian part of things. Since we cannot have Venice, could you talk the Vatican into joining us? He has long been a center of information.’_

Instead of the calm and reasoned _‘You don’t know him very well if you think he’ll agree to being used like that’_ that Gilbert probably should have sent, he gave into his mounting anger and replied with:

_‘You know Liechtenstein is still taking Denmark to bed, right? **Regularly.** ’_

There were some things he did not need to know, and that had been one of them, but Don had told him about it when he’d run across their e-mails back and forth in whatever incomprehensible digital world he called _‘home’_ because if the people in Martigny _didn’t_ know-

_‘Of course I know,’_ Ivan sent back. _‘We all know. We are not making a thing of it, but it is not a secret either. And yes, Nia knows. Did you really think she would not? It was a political marriage, and though they are friends and effective political partners there is no marital love between them.’_

There was a momentary pause, just long enough for Gilbert to have to fight down an emotional explosion in his office- someone, at the very least his secretary, would hear- and then a second part to the message.

_‘I suspect she is aromantic, besides asexual, unless she is simply following the typical Nations’ trajectory of spending some centuries without attachment before falling unfortunately hard for someone. But, given Venice’s brothers, I would not be surprised if she never finds reason to do so. Tell us when you talk to the Vatican.’_

Ivan’s conjectures about Nia were not news to Gilbert- Ludwig had been very, very asexual and the rest of them had noticed it early in Nia; and Feliciano had had happy suspicions that she and Lovino were bonding over something more than fencing instruction- and in any other circumstances he wouldn’t have been surprised. Ludwig and Feliciano had had something similar for the first decade or so of their relationship, after all; and one of the best ways to have some old, comfortably-friendly conflict in Vienna or Budapest had been to needle Roderich about the sexual desires he and Erzsébet went to other people for until Roderich got red enough that he looked in danger of exploding and Erzsébet chased him out of the building.

But _this-_

Oh, he was going to see Cristoforo, all right; because Cristoforo would listen to him vent the rage he shouldn’t try to deal with here.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Don,” he grit out, and went to see Cristoforo.

He found his friend in his rooms, which was no surprise, but Michele was there as well, clearly getting some sort of religious instruction.

Cristoforo looked up when Gilbert came in the room and closed his catechism when he saw his expression.

“We will do more tomorrow, Michele,” he told him, waving the younger Nation out of the room.

Gilbert waited approximately five seconds after the door closed before letting himself explode.

“There is _some **shit**_ that Nia will get up to!” he told the other. “But _this_ is hypocrisy on an _entirely_ new level! More than a _century_ with her and Feliciano because _he_ committed adultery, but _Liechtenstein-_ ”

“Ah,” Cristoforo said to himself, very quietly.

Gilbert still caught it, though.

“You _knew_ about this?” he demanded.

“Of course I knew about this, Gilbert,” Cristoforo told him. “They are both Catholic. Liesl came to me about this, after the murders, before she said anything to Nia. She was concerned, given Nia’s history, and conflicted.”

“It’s fucking _political,_ is what it is!” Gilbert snapped. “Feliciano is _personal,_ and she’s got _no problem_ mixing those when it comes to _other_ people- but she can’t hate Liesl like that, because then she’d be shitting in her _own_ house!”

“Or,” Cristoforo said, a hint of reproval in his voice. “She can recognize the difference between having an affair and having an honest, open relationship.”

“Well she can’t be _happy_ about it!”

“I’m given to understand that she doesn’t care much,” he said. “She _was_ the one who had to be convinced to go through with the marriage, after all. Liesl was the one who agreed with Eric and Anja that it would be a good idea, and talked her into it.”

“That-” was the only word he could think of. Everything else was just frustrated emotionality, totally non-verbal.

Cristoforo gestured to the chair Michele had left empty, and let Gilbert sit and seethe until he’d emotionally exhausted himself, some time later.

“You’re teaching Rome?” was what he opened the conversation back up with. “I thought that would be Nia’s job.”

“She is here often,” Cristoforo told him. “But it is harder for her to raise Michele the way she did Isolde, both because of inconvenient location and because he came so grown already. But then, Rome is not the same to her, in the political sense as Martinach or even the colony on Uaclleon. Similarly, Árpád and Terenzia and Ivan have done most of the work of there, raising Katyusha.”

That was as good an opening as any.

“Speaking of Ivan,” Gilbert opened, and explained about the group Iran and China had put together. He was unsurprised when Cristoforo frowned, kept his thoughts to himself, and declined to join.

He _was_ surprised, though, when Lovino walked into his office a couple of days later, completely unannounced, sat himself down on top of Gilbert’s desk, and said: “I heard you joined the fucking Illuminati.”

 It took Gilbert a moment to adjust to this abrupt change of situation. His secretary burst into his office a few moments late, mouth open to perhaps apologize or offer to evict South Italy; but at Gilbert’s look he backed out again and closed the door behind him.

“It’s not the Illuminati,” Gilbert told Lovino after he was certain his secretary wasn’t listening.

Lovino gave him a very unimpressed look.

“You sure?” he asked. “Because this sounds a lot like what Hanna Schumacher was certain we were doing.”

“All we’re trying to do is make sure they don’t derail any progress we could make,” Gilbert told him defensively. “They could taint the idea of Nations having real rights for centuries, or the idea that Nations can have power in or over their government-”

“Yeah, I know,” Lovino interrupted him. “Why do you think I’m joining your little secret society?”

“You’re _what?_ ”

“I’ve got just as must interest in making sure the Genists don’t fuck things up as anyone else,” he said. “More, even. My people know very well that while it’s the Hunt who broke the organized crime, it was Vespasiana and I who got them to do it in the first place; and who had a long-standing vendetta with them in the first place. They know that _we’re_ the ones who have been looking out for them as best we could through the centuries, even when the officials were corrupt or members of it themselves. They _also_ know that I’m the one who tried to keep the Italian government together, and when that didn’t work, to convince my part of the split to keep it peaceful. The government’s made a lot of promises about prosperity and lack of corruption and efficiency they’ve had over a century to deliver; and they _haven’t._ They _know_ Vespasiana and I are the popular alternative. We’ve got our own Genist movement- underground, because they’re serious about plotting and executing a coup.”

As far as Gilbert knew, Don hadn’t heard anything about this, which meant they were keeping things very analogue and very personal. This was alarming, because that was staying _very_ underground.

“And you want us to help,” he said.

“ _Fuck_ no!” Lovino told him. “You think _I_ want to get Spasia and I stuck with this shit! The people in charge are the always the people who are blamed, and I don’t want _or_ need that kind of hatred in my life. I’ve got enough of it already. But if _I_ do anything to oppose it, then I’ve earned an enemy and it looks like I’m siding against the _idea_ of Genism- which I’m _not-_ but if I _don’t_ then it looks like I’m condoning the effort to kill my government, which I’m _also_ not supporting! If they try it and they win then _I’m_ stuck with all the responsibility; but if they try it and they fail then what sort of message does that send?”

He jabbed a finger at Gilbert, who jerked back a bit. Lovino still hadn’t gotten down from on top of his desk, so he was a little too close for comfort.

“I’ll tell you what sort of message! It says that the Genists are dangerous, violent revolutionaries- terrorists! Only its _us_ who get fucked over in the end, and not them! It makes Cuba and China and Venice look bad, and undermines Martinach-Liechtenstein and Venice besides!”

“This has nothing to do with Martinach-Liechtenstein,” Gilbert said. “Yeah, it might make the university look bad-”

“I’ve been doing this for at _least_ two thousand years longer than you,” South Italy snapped at him. “It fucking _will_ reflect badly on Martinach-Liechtenstein and Venice, because the Genists are using Honalenier theory, and those two are tied up so much in Honalee now that if Honalee goes bad in humanity’s eyes, they do too. And beyond that, it’s Honalee and Venice and the Hunt who mean we can go to space- so then space is shaky political territory. They’ve _already_ got Genist movements out there- so what if Genism becomes untouchable down here? It won’t be up _there._ That’s the perfect excuse for the political split everybody’s scared will happen. We can’t enforce anything up there without some sort of space navy, and everybody knows it- and that nobody _has_ one. The only one who can get an army to space is Nia, and the Hunt is only going to intervene if there’s an actual war. If the planets just declare themselves independent on the basis of having their own Nations, she’s obligated by precedent to support them. And with _me-_ if Venice weakens, because of the Genists or space or Honalee or all of them- most of the foreign aid I get is from Venice. Feli keeps letting me have loans and it’s _shit_ and I fucking hate it but I _need_ them and she’s nice about it, because we’re family. But if the Genists fuck up, then they fuck _us_ up, and then I’m immediately shit on _two_ ways, because my chance at rights are gone _and_ my money is in danger. _I refuse to have a revolution._ ”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Gilbert told him carefully.

“What I _want,_ General,” South Italy said. “Is for you and this cabal you’re involved in to back this, financially, as the condition for me joining, so you can get your person in Italy. You’ve all got money and _I_ don’t- but what I _do_ have is the connections, which none of you ever will, both to Feli and to the Genists in my own country. There are some people- I can get them together, but then they’ll need _money._ Money for a media campaign. Money to counter the revolutionaries. Money to challenge the establishment.”

“You sound like you have a plan.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a plan,” Lovino told him. “Vespasiana and I have been talking about it. If we can hook moderate Genism into government reform and oversight, then we can work with that.”

He paused for a moment, to consider whether or not he should continue, and Gilbert used that moment to make sure that Don was listening.

“We’ve got a guy,” he said. “Remo Mantovani. Career politician- old, respected, generally trusted not to be a fucking bastard.”

_‘A moderate,’_ Don said in his ear. _‘The main voice for reform. He’s taken a younger Senator,_ _Rita Borgogni,_ _under his wing, in an attempt to make a stronger political bloc.’_

“With him we have Rita Borgogni,” Lovino continued. “People like her better than him. He’s respected, but people _like_ her. She gets more power from him and he gets more influence from her.”

Gilbert had a sense of where this was going now.

“So if you tell them to cooperate with the Genist group you want to make, then you’ve got a nice party platform.”

“We already do,” Lovino informed him. “Vespasian and I went to Mantovani yesterday and told him that we’d back him and Borgogni on reform, _publically,_ against the rest of the government if they picked up the Genists. They agreed; and we’re introducing them to the person we suborned from the underground- Amaranta Potenza- and the moderate Genist intellectuals and civil servants over lunch at my house tomorrow. They’ll get together whether you back them or not- but it will go better if you do. We can’t be seen to be backing the Genists the same we can the reformers- but if they happen to receive, say, a couple of large, anonymous donations from an untraceable source that _looks_ like it comes from within the country…”

He let himself trail off and looked significantly at Gilbert.

Gilbert waited for Don.

_‘Sounds like fun,’_ Ladonia told him after a moment.

“You’re about to wage open political warfare on your own government,” Gilbert said. “But you’re telling me that you _don’t_ want to end up in charge of it?”

 “What Vespasiana and I want is official power of oversight,” Lovino told him. “The humans still elect their own officials and draft their own laws and make their own decisions. But _we_ keep everyone honest. That’s a big point the Genists make in favor of having Nations run governments, but we want those two things to be separate. If someone’s corrupt, if someone’s taking bribes- we can bring them up on charges, or maybe even fire them ourselves. What we get in return is something legally binding that says no one has any legal authority over us in any way beyond what any human citizen would have. It might not stop anyone from being able to put us under orders in actuality, but it’s grounds enough that we can go to Nia for it and bring _her_ authority down on them. The public knows about being under orders now, with the book- we would have them behind us if we had to. And with that, we’d like to bring in some Jäger, so we have a third party to watch _us_ in the oversight process, and help us out.”

“That sounds like foreign interference.”

“The Jäger aren’t a sticking point,” Lovino told him. “Vespasiana and I are willing to drop that to get the legal prohibition and the oversight. We’re just going to start at the table with _everything_ we want.”

“I’ll talk to the others,” Gilbert promised him. “You should get your money, and I’ll make sure you find out when the next meeting is. Even if _they_ don’t give you anything- you’ll get something from me.” 

Lovino didn’t say _‘thank you’_ , because that wasn’t how these things worked. You didn’t _thank_ another Nation for giving you money after you’d asked for that- just asking in the first place was bitter enough without the other demanding formal politeness over it. It became demeaning, at that point, not manners.

But Gilbert knew the slight tightness in Lovino’s jaw and the new hard edge in his eyes meant the same thing as _‘thank you’_.

“Good luck.”

* * *

The itinerary for Feliciano and Amphitrite’s space tour called for a first stop at Regina Caeli; then moving back towards Earth through Haero and Helike, then Uydoystrara and Uxcilia, then past Earth to Uaclleon, and a quick look at Qecarro and Traevsabr before turning around and going home.

Renata was delighted to see them out of season. Usually they came for a couple of days around the landing anniversary at the beginning of spring, or for Christmas. But now they were here during the summer, for the festival. It ran for five days, starting two days before the solstice with the opening events of the horse competition, which continued for the whole festival. On the first day the horse competition it was short flat races, in groups of two or three, at all skill and age levels. The last thing for the horses, in the late afternoon, was the announcement of the relay teams for the next day.

The second day was more reminiscent of the Ordon Khot Summer Fair and the Dranse Summer Market, which the festival had originally grown out of. Regina Caeli turned into a street fair of local artisans, farmers, political parties and club booths, food stalls, art exhibitions, buskers, and street acts. The horse relays started around ten and went until two, and then everyone broke for a couple hours before the dressage exhibition, which started about three in the afternoon, on the Hunt’s garrison parade ground. Temporary seating had been erected for the guests, and the Hunt ceded the field to the Steppeans for the first portion, and the Husar and Reiter Regiments were out in full dress, all polished and shining in the early evening light.

The end of the dressage was a surprise, because no one had told Feliciano that Árpád Héderváry was on Theiostea. They came out with their violin mic’d, twenty or thirty horses trailing them, and put on fifteen minutes of choreographed horse dancing. Feliciano had heard about this before, but she’d never actually _seen_ it. It was surprisingly compelling, and it ended in a short dance, of only six horses, who had been distinctively decked out in costume, that was a tribute to their grandmother in the stands. Amphitrite was quite pleased, and excused herself to the stables just before the fireworks started to thank her grandchild.

“Leutnant Héderváry is in the crosschase!” Renata told Feliciano enthusiastically, during the fireworks.

“That seems like cheating,” she remarked to her charge.

“Oh no,” Renata disagreed, shaking her head vehemently. “It’s an endurance race and an obstacle course- it’s all about the horse. And they would _never_ cheat.”

Feliciano had a moment of worry at Renata’s tone, before she recognized that it wasn’t infatuation, but hero-worship. Infatuation wouldn’t usually have been a problem- but Árpád was married, and it wasn’t hard for Feliciano to imagine an amusing anecdote about Renata acting on it going from Árpád to Terenzia and then Terenzia to Arik and finally from Arik to Nia, and then Nia storming in and accusing her of corrupting Renata’s morals, because it would be just another excuse to take out her bitterness and grief over Ludwig.  

The third day of the festival was the solstice- the height of summer and the height of the festival. The street fair continued with just as much vigor as the day before, but with outdoor concerts and amateur drama performances in a few different venues around the city.

At noon, outside the city hall, Renata shot off the starting gun for the crosschase, which would end in exactly forty-eight hours, with the win going to whichever horse crossed the boundary line of the Ramman city first. There were fifteen horses running, and Árpád and István were favored but by no means sure winners.

The other big event of the day was a dinner and dance at city hall, which felt a little strange to Feliciano because it was hosting her, Amphitrite, and Nanshe, plus some officials of the nearest cities who’d come for this particularly special visit, but it wasn’t particularly grand or glamorous. She wasn’t upset by it, but the sort of small-community atmosphere it had didn’t really mesh with her mental conception of _‘state occasion’_.

Dancing started with Renata andDihumun, Theiostea’s star, in what was clearly a symbolic pairing about the natural cycle of the year and how the people on Theiostea still depended so heavily and overtly on it. It was very odd to see a robot- well, a robotic suit inhabited by the spirit of a star- dancing.

Feliciano and Amphitrite took their turn in the dancing, but Feliciano left the floor after not very long to slide into one of the empty seats next to Nanshe. There were a lot of pick from.

“If you are looking for conversation, Venice,” Nanshe said. “I have little to say to you; and little wish to speak.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, if you don’t actually want to talk then I can leave, but you looked really alone over here and nobody was being around you.”

“Socialization is fine,” Nanshe told her. “It is you I have no wish to see.”

That was- not good.

“Have I offended you in some way?” Feliciano asked carefully. “If I have, I assure you that it was never my intention.”

“ _You_ have done nothing to me,” Nanshe said. “But I am _owed_ for Ahes, and-”

She cut herself off, pressing her lips together in a thin line of simmering anger.

“And it was the Jagdsprinz who killed her?” Feliciano ventured. “I’m sorry you’ve lost her.”

“You _should_ be sorry,” Nanshe informed her. “Ahes was your Sun, Honalee’s star. They are the same on a metaphysical level, and now she is dead. It will not affect either for some time, but when it does…”

There was a universe of cosmic doom threatened in that uncompleted thought, and Feliciano didn’t want to think too hard about it.

“Is there anything that can be done about it?” she asked.

“I can attach an already extant soul to the Sun,” Nanshe said. “But I must have someone with enough power to withstand it, and such a person is exceedingly rare.”

“Well,” Feliciano said. “I hope you find someone.”

“Oh, I _will_ find someone,” Nanshe told her, voice dark with relish. “All that is required of me is to wait, and not even so long as a planetary age. They will be born, and when they come to their magic, I will have them, and my due payment for my first daughter with it.”

Feliciano retreated back to the dance floor and Amphitrite, after that. Nanshe was unsettling, and the focus on being paid back for a death was uncomfortably close to Nia.

The two of them stayed for the other two days of the festival, and were on the finish line when Árpád came in second at the end of the crosschase half a length behind one of the Steppean settlers. They took it in cheer and good stride, and presented themselves and István later at the place they were staying with orders from Ivan that they were to accompany Feliciano and Amphitrite along on their trip until they reached Uaclleon again.

* * *

The group pulled together enough money for Lovino and Vespasiana’s political bid with Mantovani, Borgogni, and Potenza to deliver on Gilbert’s promise ten days after the five of them went on-camera to announce the new platform.

In the meantime, international politics threw a fit. Don mapped it all out neatly and precisely for Gilbert and the VRG government.

Before Lovino and Vespasiana, the Genists had been a mostly unified group, ideologically. They were still considered radicals outside of the few countries that actually had their Nation as their Head of State, but for the most part they had been considered odd but harmless, perhaps a little too prone to foreign influence, but so small in number that politics wasn’t going to be changed by them turning up. China had put a fissure down the center of the Genists and exposed two camps- the Marcianists, who hewed to the example of Blazek and Marciana and worked for their goals and ideals through common political tools; and the Liukasians, who were mostly Chinese with a minority of the Cuban Genists and supported revolutionary action. The South Italian underground had been a particularly extremist strain of the Liukasian Genists, though there was no evidence that they actually thought of themselves like that.

After Lovino and Vespasiana, the Genists underwent a further split- the Marcianists and the Liukasians got lumped together under the label of _‘pure’_ Genism, which drew as much from Blazek and Marciana’s _Manifesto_ and other works as it did from Zell’s _Die Seelenvolksrecht_  or Schumacher’s _With Sorrow;_ while the stripped-down version in South Italy that did away with the _Manifesto_ ’s central point- Nations in charge of governments- and replaced it with government oversight ended up designated _‘reform’_ , or sometimes _‘Neapolitan’_ ,Genism.

As the situation in South Italy developed, the distinctions in the opposition did, as well. The closest anyone had ever come to giving the anti-Genists a more distinctive name had been the Cantabrigians, for the city where the still-unsolved murder of Marek Costa Łukasiewicz-Väinämöinen had occured, but it hadn’t particularly stuck. The Genists had never really generated a legitimized opposition before- they were either too small, or in the countries where they really had a following, were butting up against established political groups and not creating their own reactionaries.

But South Italy gave them an opportunity, and in not very much time at all _‘Cantabrigian’_ was relegated to the violent anti-Genists; and _‘Tanzian’_ , from South Italian President Mario Tanzi, was used for anti-Genists in general. Then, as Lovino and Vespasiana gained ground in the run-up to the next election, and Reform Genist candidates seemed to be winning out in local and regional governments, terms got more refined. The Tanzians were the ones who were totally opposed to the Reform Genists’ proposals; while the Orsinians- following Ilda Orsini, the Prime Minister- were simply against the oversight powers for Nations, while supporting the idea of encoded rights for them.

In 2199, Mantovani was elected President of Italy, Borgogni made it to President of the Senate, and Amaranta Potenza became Prime Minister. The Reform Genists created a coalition government with Ilda Orsini’s party, and went to work. There was immediate legislation to keep Lovino and Vespasiana out from under legal authority by government officials, work was started on setting up their new powers, and the Hunt was officially invited to try a trial run of working with the oversight process.

Gilbert had thought that was the end of it, for now; and so when Don reported that Ivan had bundled up a couple of print runs of Reform Genist pamphlets for shipping to the colonies and had arranged for some of the political coverage of the election to be translated and provided on the colony networks, he was sorely tempted to punch him in the face the next time they met for making things _that_ much harder to manage.

* * *

Haero and Helike had been pleasant enough visits, but after Uydoystrara and Uxcilia, Feliciano was struck how _crowded_ the first two were in comparison. They barely had a population density worth remarking on, given Earth standards, but the need to travel an hour from the center of population to see real untouched nature was quite the anomaly in the colonies. Usually the settlements were small, and nature was a matter of fifteen minute’s ride to lose sight of all human presence. Haero actually had a _train system._

But the change from Uydoystrara and Uxcilia was even more disorienting. Haero and Helike had an asynchronous sort of air- the feel of a series of old, small cities, secure in their identity, while being architecturally and aesthetically much too new for it not to seem wrong, off-kilter. Uydoystrara felt a lot like Regina Caeli in the early days, one settlement effectively alone amongst nature, but the site on Uydoystrara wasn’t quite as climatically welcoming as Regina Caeli was. Touching down on Uxcilia had felt like being dumped in wilderness to fend for themselves, since the primary residents were huldrene, who didn’t care for cities or towns unless they were simply moving into one that was already established. Except for the landing area and the shipping warehouses, there was nothing.

Uaclleon was a different experience all together again. From space-side, it looked like Uxcilia- completely undeveloped, covered in millions of square kilometers of thick forest, broken on land only by mountain ranges and elsewhere almost overwhelmed by water. Earth was 71% ocean, while on Uaclleon it was closer to 80%, or 90%. As they descended, Feliciano was able to see an area on the coast that had been cleared out for building and farming and industry, and some pockets of people on the mountains.

Feliciano was distracted by the brilliant green of Uaclleon’s ground cover, and the high whining scream that came barely a second before the dark streak shot past, completely blocking his view of the planet, made him jump.

“Was that a fighter jet!” he demanded, pressing his face to the viewing window of the galley shuttle in an attempt to get a better view. “That sounded like a fighter jet! Why do they have fighter jets!”

“That wasn’t a fighter jet, _Razanás_ ,” the pilot said over the intercom from inside from the cabin.

The galley shuttle wasn’t small enough for the pilot to have overheard him from the cabin, and Feliciano glared around the cabin, looking for some sort of microphone while Amphitrite smiled slightly, amused.

“Then what was it?” Feliciano asked the ceiling angrily, for lack of a better place to direct his question.

“I’m not at liberty to say, _Razanás,_ ” the pilot told him. “You should ask Marschall Braginski.”

The cleared area of the main city, the first settlement on Uaclleon, contrasted with the green of the surround forest with the glint of glass and the duller colors of rock paving and walling, and the dark brown and black of the local wood; but the sights hadn’t prepared him for disembarking. The doors of the galley shuttle opened, and he walked into a solid wall of humidity.

“Aren’t you coming out?” Amphitrite asked, exiting without any apparent discomfort.

“It’s _cold,_ ” Feliciano protested. “I can’t remember ever being somewhere where it was humid and _cold._ ”

“It isn’t cold,” Amphitrite told him. “Nothing has frozen.”

“This is miserable weather and I’m glad I don’t live here.”

 Ivan, as the highest-ranking Hunt officer present, was there to greet them. He was accompanied by a teenager who seemed rather short for his age, hair somewhere between brown and black and glasses over his hazel eyes.

“This is Katyusha,” Ivan introduced him. “ _Sternkolonie_ _Uaclleon_.”

“Ivan,” Feliciano said testily. “We were buzzed by a _fighter jet_ on our way down.”

“It was not a fighter jet,” Ivan disagreed, expression completely opaque.

“Oh, so you _were_ trying to show off then,” Feliciano said. “Well, if it wasn’t a fighter jet, what was it?”

Katyusha looked beseechingly at Ivan.

“Keep to the schedule,” Ivan told him, before turning his attention back to Feliciano. “You will see at the shipyards, Venice.”

_Shipyards. **Shipyards.**_

Feliciano stewed through Katyusha’s tour of the city, his nervously-excited explanations about the local economy and the social and resource structures of his planet ignored, at least until the end.

“The forest is too thick and it rains too much to make trying to put a road or a rail through to the mountains viable,” Katyusha told them. “We have to clear out areas in sections and then build over it, clearing again at the beginning of every day, to keep the forest away. And it’s hard enough constructing houses in persistent rain. It’ll rain in an hour or two, there’s not a day here where it doesn’t rain a _little_ and there’s fog for most of the morning and through the evening-”

“Do you put your goods on boats, then?” Amphitrite asked.

“Oh, if they’re bulk items, yeah,” Katyusha said. “We’ve got tankers and everything. There’s plenty of oil and coal here so when we pump and mine that those go in the ships. A lot of the ore too. But people and food and y’know, _supplies,_ stuff that isn’t just to feed the factories, we have to fly those in.”

“Your weather service is developed enough to find you good windows for that?” Feliciano asked. It must have been very regular for that to be feasible.

“Oh no,” Katyusha told him. “We’d never get anything done if we shipped it through _atmosphere._ It’s faster and easier to put it in near-space and just drop through cloud cover from there. And it makes it easier to ship things over to Uxcilia too.”

The area they were coming up on was walled and guarded, and there were craft coming down- mostly small, smaller than he’d ever seen. There were larger crafts, but they were still small enough that Feliciano would have taken it for an airport, as there were no space-faring craft that small that he knew about; but with what Katyusha had just said-

“No one can make space craft that small,” he said. “Not that aren’t meant to operate in atmosphere. Galley shuttles just go down and then back up. They don’t go _through_ space.”

Katyusha’s expression went a little chagrined and Ivan just smiled in a way that made Feliciano want to punch him. Ivan got them through the security checkpoints, and eventually they were in the hangars.

“That is what flew by you,” Ivan told him, pointing to one of the nearer crafts. These were neatly lined up, and stationary they _did_ look mostly like fighter jets, though they were somewhat larger and had some cargo space, and the engines looked a bit funny. Besides that, it was the same minimal, streamlined sort of design. “We call them _‘blackjets’_ . They can carry emergency supplies and small mechanical pieces to repair the mining machines or the computers, or some construction supplies. There is also a small capacity for a passenger contingent- comfortably two adults, three if they cram, four if it is absolutely an emergency, such as an evacuation. We have had to do that before. They sound like fighter jets because they go so fast.”

“Why _‘blackjets’_?”

“The sky is blue, yes?” Ivan said. “And space is black. These are space-capable ships. So- they work in black, not blue. Blackjets.”

“And what about those?” Feliciano asked, pointing at the larger craft, in the back. It was four or five times the size of the blackjets, similar in size to a large passenger airplane, but bore no resemblance to any sort of atmospheric vehicle at all.

“Trade ship,” Ivan told him. “A carrack. Good for small cargos and single trading missions, easy to get through gates. Lots of clearance.”

“Why not just buy schooners?”

_‘Schooner’_ was the general name for the many varieties of trading ships, on average about the size of a space rocket- humanity had been trained into the idea of spaceship categories as sailing ship categories centuries ago, and no one saw any real need to drop the habit. Space rocket size was about as big as could be accommodated by the gates, and the larger models required some _very_ careful piloting. There were a few more companies in the spacecraft business these days, even if they had to get their engines from HabéTech. Rumors abounded that one or more of them had developed an engine just dissimilar enough from the burst drives that it could be considered a separate patent, but so far, nothing had come of it.

He’d answered his own question- schooners were made for HabéTech engines.

“No, never mind,” he told Ivan, who raised an eyebrow at him.

But that still left the question-

“Who _makes_ these, then?” Feliciano asked. “If you were buying from HabéTech you’d just take schooners; and if you’re not taking schooners then I doubt you’re using HabéTech engines, direct from them or licensed out. You’re making knockoffs up here, aren’t you?”

“We are not making knockoff HabéTech burst drives,” Ivan said. “That would be patent infringement, and that is illegal. We are the Wild Hunt.”

Feliciano dropped his voice.

“I _knew_ it,” he told Ivan. “ _‘We are the Wild Hunt’_? This is Nia. She cut out part of the Ramman’s math so you could keep the gate technology to yourselves!”

“We are not making gates either,” Ivan said, letting ice creep into his tone.

“I’ve heard _nothing_ of your blackjets _or_ your carracks,” Feliciano hissed, jabbing a finger at him. “Yet you say you’re trading with Uxcilia. So that tells _me_ that when you’re not contracting out to _my_ schooners, or _NAFTA_ ’s out of Qecarro, or some of those UN ships, that you’re using _these._ You refuse to buy from HabéTech, you don’t use the models everyone else has, and _you_ were the ones who arrested Cassiel Navin. You had opportunity to loot his workshop, and even if you didn’t, you’ve got _János_ and the Workshop. Any hints he’s dropped or anything he’s told you, Nico and Luisa and their people are smart enough to do something with it. You’ve already got the World Gate to study- it wouldn’t even be that _hard_ to take the gate technology and put it on ships, make them so you could make temporary tears through to Honalee and then back out the other side-”

Ivan cut him off.

“If we assume that you are correct-”

Oh, he _was._ That sort of phrasing was only used when you didn’t want to admit that you’d been found out, or if you were playing a particularly complex political game. Bringing him directly to the shipyards to see semi-secret technology was _not_ a move you made in some complex web of international political puppetry, not unless you wanted to bribe someone into a deal.

And Martinach-Liechtenstein, the _Hunt,_ was making no deals with Venice.

“-then what shall you do about it?”

Unfortunately, _knowing_ what he did didn’t do him any good- and Ivan knew it. The Ramman’s math without whatever the Hunt was withholding, or without easy access to Honalee to measure time differentials and powerful sorcerers to work out and set up the magic involved to make the necessary theoretical steps, was next to useless for _actual_ space travel, the way the Hunt was doing it. The Hunt were the ones with the resources and the position to do the necessary calculations, to have the necessary manpower, to make this work.

“Nothing,” Feliciano admitted grudgingly, and Ivan nodded, just the slightest bit. Nia and the Hunt had won this one.

“Fürstensraumfabrik makes these ships,” Ivan told him, back at normal voice levels, like nothing had happened. “It is a government-owned company, property of the Jagdsprinz the same way that the title to Martinach is the property of the Jagdsprinz. It passes down with the position, should anyone ever replace her.”

When he got back to Earth, Feliciano was going to find out about this _‘Royal Space Manufactory’_ company. They had to have some sort of headquarters in Martinach- or perhaps Liechtenstein, to throw off anyone who got nosy.

Maybe technically everything extraterrestrial was meant to be free and open property to the entirety of humanity to the benefit of humanity but _goddamnit,_ space was _his,_ and this was something Nia was _not_ allowed to take from him.

* * *

The trip to Eridrea had been a significant disappointment, and Gilbert delayed actually talking to Don until he returned to his office in Berlin.

“So?” Ladonia demanded through his holographic interface. “How did it go?”

“We can’t make it work,” Gilbert told him. “The only way to get communication through a gate is to transmit it to the ship going through and have the ship carry it over. We can set up a separate Internet on any other planet as we please- telecommunications equipment is cheap, relatively speaking, and all we have to do is put the satellites on a ship and then release them in the proper orbit, and then it can pick up the stored messages from any ship coming through automatically and redistribute them as required- but it can’t ever be truly _one_ system. Not the way its set up now; and not with what we _or_ the Pict _or_ the Ramman know about space travel. The Pict never had to communicate like that, and neither did the Ramman. _We’re_ the idiots who actually fell for colonization and got conned into spreading ourselves all over the galaxy with no communications systems and no good supply lines!”

He started pacing his office.

“Humanity is a strategic disaster, Don, and the only thing keeping us from being _completely_ at the mercy of the Pict and the Ramman is the Hunt and the Jagdsprinz! They can hold us together at a certain level, but only because they can _go_ everywhere! But we don’t have any sort of way to hold the planets together politically, or to enforce anything- if some colony decides to do something that we don’t want them too, then tough on us! We can’t do _shit_ about it! We need more direct contact, oversight, communication, intelligence- but we can’t _do_ what we do here _there!_ ”

He restrained himself from throwing something at the wall in his frustration, and Don quietly dissolved his holographic body sometime before he actually sat back down at his desk and sent messages out to the right people to tell them that the interstellar telecommunications project that had been going for three-quarters of a century now was officially cancelled. He didn’t like to do it, and admitting defeat was always a bitter experience, but it was time they stopped chasing something that wouldn’t work and invest time and money into considering the problem of how to adequately police and communicate with the colonies, and setting up some sort of spy network. What Gilbert had been working with was, in all honesty, shit- but none of the colonies but Regina Caeli and the Hunt’s city on Uaclleon had had much of anything worth knowing about anyway.

Times were changing, though. The universe of 2231 was a lot different than that of 2155, or 2196, and the colonies were starting to be worth something on their own, now, instead of just odd additions to their parent countries on Earth, vanity projects and self-focused proof that humanity was just as capable as it had always hoped it was.

He needed real spies, and he needed them _now;_ and he needed some way to get information from them quickly and with a minimal amount of notice. They couldn’t string Don out among the stars, so they’d have to go back to old, human-centered, much less reliable methods. It was going to be a massive pain, and they’d probably have a huge information leakage, and somewhere down the line that would be a huge embarrassment.

But it was what they had to work with.

A very confused János Héderváry turned up in his office over lunch break a couple of days later.

“What did you want to see me for?” the sorcerer asked. “If it was that important, you could have at least _hinted_ at what you wanted in the message.”

Gilbert froze in his doorway, heart racing.

“I didn’t send you anything,” he told János, frantically trying to come up with a list of people who could possibly benefit from impersonating him and getting János to show up in Berlin. They’d been set up, but who and how and why-

“That was from me,” Don said, appearing in his customary spot just off-center in the room. “I lied. Aren’t you going to come in, General?”

Gilbert shut the door and glared at his- he couldn’t really call Ladonia his subordinate, or his lackey; but they weren’t quite partners either. He wasn’t sure what they were.

No, he did. It was something uncomfortably like family; and seeing Ladonia standing there with a little bit of apology and a little bit of defiance and the calm surety of a person who had a plan echoed in his memory. Don could have been Ludwig, a year into the first World War, demanding a role and his own authority and autonomy and Gilbert had the same sort of unease now that he had then, maybe even a little worse, because unlike Ludwig Gilbert couldn’t grab Don and physically _stop_ him from doing anything.

No one could stop Ladonia doing anything, unless they wanted to disconnect the entire planet. If Don just decided one day that he was done helping Gilbert, done spying- or worse, wanted to spy for _someone else-_ there was nothing Gilbert could do to keep him from leaving. He could sleep at night and trusted the other Nation with his secrets, and his government’s secrets, and Dietrich’s secrets, because Don had a certain loyalty and the sort of social debt that incurred between two people who spent a lot of time in each other’s company, part affection and part obligation and part convenience.

“Is there a good reason for this?” he asked Don.

“I think Sorcerer Héderváry could be the solution to our communication and oversight problem,” Don told him.

“Great,” János grumbled. “I’m being hijacked into another project. Just what I always wanted. Maybe _someday_ I’ll learn better than to pay attention when people come asking me to uproot my life and relocate somewhere that suits their needs better.”

“You don’t _have_ to help,” Don said. “But we have a set of problems to solve- the inability to connect the different systems’ telecommunications systems, the inability to coordinate between systems, and a military and social weakness of the systems in the case of the Pict or the Ramman or another group cutting off space travel. And I think I have a potential solution.”

“Oh?” Gilbert said. “Then it would have been nice to have heard it a couple of days ago _before_ I ordered the project junk-”

“It’s artificial intelligence,” Don said.

“That sounds very illegal,” was János’s immediate response.

“There aren’t any laws against it anywhere,” Don told him, sounding deeply affronted. “And if there _were-_ what about _me,_ then? What am _I_ but an AI?”

“ _Razanás_ ,” János said. “And AIs are purposefully constructed; they’re something else if they arise spontaneously-”

“Semantics,” Don said dismissively. “When you say _‘AI’_ people think _‘computer with a brain’_ and you know it. _I’m_ an AI, and I’m a person. People can’t be _illegal._ ”

Gilbert… had honestly not thought about it like that before. He’d named Ladonia Donner von Maskinsjälen, _‘thunder of the machine-soul’_ , as a sort of joke. It had been a very conscious play on the idea of an AI, of the ghost in the machine, but he hadn’t actually ever thought of Ladonia _as_ an AI before. He’d always been just a Nation- unique, and with a very strange birth, but a Nation nonetheless.

“You’re not one computer though,” János argued. “And I kind of doubt you have any code anywhere, either.”

“I don’t,” Don said. “But I’m an AI _Razanás-_ the _only_ one, and probably the only one there ever will be. Why _should_ I have code? I’m inherently extremely magical. Where did you think I got this hologram from- you can’t project light onto thin air! _This-_ ”

He gestured to his body, the one Gilbert had always thought of as _‘holographic’_ , but apparently-

“-is an illusion! And I think any regular AI will have to have some magic, too. You can do an awful lot with programming, but they still need a… soul, or something like that. Code can’t do that. Magic can.”

“That’s why I said that sounds very illegal,” János told him. “That sounds sort of like necromancy, and if it’s not that exactly, messing with souls is a _great_ way to bring the Hunt down on you.”

“I know the Jagdsprinz’s Pact,” Don said stubbornly. “I know what makes you a witch. I’m not asking you to steal someone else’s soul or to damage one that already exists or anything like that- I want you to make _new_ ones.”

“You can’t just _make souls,_ ” János protested.

“Why not?” Don asked. “Humans do it procreating. Babies are born with their souls intact and ready to go. Those have to get made _somehow._ ”

“Yes,” János agreed. “But no one knows _how!_ ”

“It’s time we found out, then.”

“Don,” Gilbert interrupted the argument. “Why AI?”

“The same reasons you have me,” he said. “I’m faster than anyone who’s not digitally-based can ever be, and I’m integral to the systems modern life is based on. You need someone like that to keep up your level of intelligence gathering, and they’d be useful to the colonists too. It would be easier for me to send messages to another digital-based intelligence for processing and then dissemination to analogue-based intelligence that they manage on _their_ end instead of trying to deal with all the problems that happen when the networks and computers have gotten different updates or different designs because we’re not in the same physical space to check each other. Having an AI is also useful for demographics mapping, and taking a census, and some bureaucratic jobs- a government asset. An AI, if living on a planet that’s been cut off from Earth, also then has the knowledge and autonomy to help keep everything running until contact can be reestablished; even keep development plans _going,_ given that they have the appropriate manuals and blueprints and had regular access to information updates from Earth on the latest activity before being cut off. And-”

He paused here, briefly.

“An AI should live until the system is destroyed,” Don said. “If it’s ever destroyed. There’s- the Jäger might live long enough but standard procedure is to rotate Regiments around so nobody gets bored or complacent or entrenched. But an AI, once it’s been seeded somewhere and has… _‘grown up’_ into their system, the way I have- they can’t be moved. They’re too big. They can’t be downloaded onto a ship and taken somewhere else. They’re the only person a Nation could be sure of never losing.”

Gilbert looked at János.

“It’s a sound concept,” he said. “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But it will have been tried, at least.”

“I’m not Cassiel,” János said, crossing his arms and glaring a little. “You can’t convince me to do things just to prove they can be done.”

Gilbert thought for a moment about the conversations he’d had with Erzsébet.

“Don,” he asked. “Any reason why an AI has to go to a _global_ network? Could an AI stay in one computer, or a smaller set of them?”

“There’s no technical reason why not,” Don said. “But it would be _boring._ ”

“For you, maybe,” Gilbert said. “Others might feel different. János-”

The man was a little wary, now- he knew enough to realize that Gilbert was up to something.

“You could have an AI,” Gilbert said. “Like Don was saying, pairing up AIs and Nations. You could have somebody who wouldn’t die on you, or be dependent on humans for their existence. Somebody to travel around with you. A friend.”

János wasn’t going to say anything yet- Gilbert had seen that look of someone who didn’t want to admit they’d been hooked a lot in his life, it was going to take a little bit for him to admit it to himself- but he’d got him. János didn’t want to be alone, and an AI in some sort of easily-portable digital form, maybe not a personal computer exactly but something with the same sort of idea, was too tempting to pass up.

The sorcerer, the Wanderer, was getting desperately lonely, staring down a bitter fear of millennia of being more or less alone, and that was an emotional state that was simple to exploit.

_“Fine,”_ János grit out after a couple of minutes. “But I want control of this project!”

“It’s yours and Don’s,” Gilbert promised. “You’re the experts.”

“If it starts going off the rocks we shut it down!” the sorcerer said. “If it starts feeling _wrong;_ if it starts slipping into witchcraft, we’re done! I leave, and nobody touches it ever again!”

“Done,” Ladonia promised, and János huffed a bit more, sulking around in the office to make a point before going off in a state back to his hotel to reserve the room for a longer period so he could search for an apartment.

“Don,” Gilbert said after János had left. “You could have told me you were lonely.”

Don looked at him for a moment, and simulated the action of opening his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. He looked away.

“You can’t understand it,” he said. “I’m the only one in my world.”

“I can’t understand that,” Gilbert agreed. “But I know something of the feeling. It’s not that great being the only Nation without any people, either.”

Don’s eyes edged back towards him again.

“That’s why we started out, remember?” Gilbert asked. “The two odd Nations out. The two who weren’t like the others. Just because I’ve got official positions now and pulled you into it doesn’t mean that’s changed.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Don said.

“Good,” Gilbert told him. “You’re a kid still, you’re not old enough yet to start forgetting things.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“You’re not even five hundred years old yet, you’re a kid until you’re at _least_ that old,” Gilbert informed him. “The hundreds and two hundreds are your baby years, three hundred and four hundreds you’re a kid. Probably a teenager until like seven hundred, actually. Seven hundred is a pretty good cutoff for being an adult.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Don informed him.

“Of course not,” Gilbert said. “You have any ideas what the first AI is going to be called? I’ll need a name to file to project under.”

Don fidgeted a moment before discorporating his human illusion, and told him through his earpiece.

_‘Blitzen.’_

“Going for a matched pair, huh?” Gilbert remarked, creating the file _‘Blitzen Project’_ and assigning Don and _‘János Héderváry, consulting’_ as project leaders. “Just tell me who you want moved over and I’ll move them over.”

He got regular, if short, updates from Don about progress from then on out. He’d requisitioned a couple of the best computer programmers and stolen the brightest of the people with a psych background to work with János, who didn’t really turn in reports but would turn up in Gilbert’s office or apartments every so often to complain about playing God and vent his discomfort over _“probing the secrets of the soul”_ so closely. There was little actual information given about his research in these sessions, but Gilbert could read between the lines just fine. Any notes and research János did would stay in his possession alone- he’d be surprised to learn that János wrote down anything but the most basic information, or the barest cryptic notes. He knew very well the importance of the subject matter he was dealing with, and didn’t trust anyone else with it.

Gilbert approved. Eventually, he’d probably insist that the information get to Cristoforo, at least in part, but that probably wouldn’t be much of an issue. János was Catholic, too. Once this was finished, there would likely be only two people, János and Cristoforo, who knew exactly what into making AIs people.

Well- _three_ people, actually. He had more faith in János’s moral integrity than to suspect that he was going to Nia while the project was in progress- unless he’d found something particularly troubling and needed the Jagdsprinz’s opinion about if and how to proceed to prevent becoming a witch- but there was little preventing him from providing the fruits of his research to Nia afterwards, to use or to hide as necessary.

Gilbert thought Nia would probably archive the information and then keep it a close secret.

He _hoped_ that was what Nia would do.

The Blitzen Project drew out over two years, then five, then fifteen. By fifteen years out, the programming was done, and there was no code updating that needed doing that couldn’t be done best by Don. The humans were quietly removed from the project, and János was left to his own devices to struggle with how to create a soul, or stimulate the creation of a soul, or simulate a soul long enough for one to develop on its own without any other mortal interference, for another eight years.

János’s breakthrough came in 2254, and he kept the secret so closely that he took the computer the code was stored on all the way to Honalee and disappeared into the abandoned areas of the Steppes to work the magic on it. He returned two months later, looking a lot less paranoid.

Gilbert initially knew when he’d returned not because János showed up in his office, but because he got a wordless, excited-sounding digital tone in his earpiece from Don when Blitzen tentatively hooked up to the Internet for the first time.

“Ask Don to calm it down, will you?” János asked when he arrived in Gilbert’s office. “He’s overwhelming Blitzen.”

Don would have heard that, so Gilbert didn’t actually say anything about it.

“It worked, then,” he said.

“It worked,” János confirmed. “The code is sound, and now that I’ve done this once it’ll be easier to do it again. I’m ready to make some more whenever Don is.”

* * *

“It _can’t_ be aliens,” one of Venice’s military officials said. “It’s not the Ramman or the Pict, and it can’t be someone we don’t know about because they’re using _our_ computers and relaying through _our_ ships!”

Feliciano glanced at the computer screen set up at the front of the room. It was frozen on the simple message that was bouncing back and forth through the Internet, both on Earth and on the extension to Mars.

_‘I am Zedekiah Ashtad!’_

“And we’re _certain_ that there’s no one on Earth _or_ in the colonies named Zedekiah Ashtad?” she asked again.

“The message originated in Regina Caeli,” one of her people said. “There isn’t anyone there named that.”

“It’s an Internet handle-”

“No, _Razanás,_ ” a computer tech told her. “It’s registered to _‘Zedekiah Ashtad’_ the entire way down.”

“So we found the computer then-”

“No, _Razanás_ \- it’s coming from _everywhere._ ”

“Computers don’t work like that!” Feliciano protested.

“Someone’s trying to throw us off, _Razanás,_ some inventive hacker. We’ll track them down.”

“It’s out to Haero now, we had another ship come in just now with the news,” someone else announced, and then in a quieter voice muttered: “If this is a masked virus we are _fucked._ ”

“Incoming!” one of the people monitoring the message said loudly. “Off the ship, there’s more-!”

Everyone’s attention snapped to the screen.

_‘Hello? Hello?’_

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” someone asked.

“There’s an accomplice somewhere,” the computer tech snapped. “It’s statistically likely-”

“New signal!” one of the other monitors called, sounding confused. “But no ship came through the gate!”

Feliciano pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything as everyone else burst into a flurry of anxious noise. They all knew messages couldn’t travel between systems without a ship carrying them- but Feliciano was the only one who knew about the Hunt’s carracks. They didn’t have anything looking out for them, and they didn’t use the gate, so it would look like the signal was sorceless.

_‘Don! Don! Can’t you hear me? Say something!’_

Feliciano pressed her hands to her eyes and gave herself a moment before sending a message to Cristoforo.

_‘I need Prussia’s number.’_

Cristoforo called him while the computer people carried on about the impossibility of it all.

“Is there a good reason why you need to speak to Gilbert?” he asked.

“National security,” Feliciano told him. “Don’t you have someone there monitoring the Internet?”

“Why would I have that?” Cristoforo asked. “You have to promise me, Feliciano, that you and he will be civil to each other.”

“I won’t talk about Ludwig if he doesn’t bring him up,” she promised. “Cristino, I just need to talk to him for like a minute.”

Cristoforo reluctantly gave her Gilbert’s number, and she hung up on him to immediately call Berlin.

“This is Venice, General Beilschmidt,” she said as soon as he picked up. “Who’s Zedekiah Ashtad?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Gilbert said.

“He’s asking for _Don,_ ” Feliciano said.

“So ask Don,” she was told, just before the connection was terminated. She scowled to herself and quickly looked over the computers people were working at. The anxiety had risen to include a hint of hysteria, and the latest theory seemed to be some sort of sneak attack by the exiled Tylwyth, which was absurd. They didn’t want to be anywhere _near_ human technology.

“You,” she ordered one of the monitors. “Move.”

The woman scrambled out of her chair to let her Nation take her station. Feliciano opened the Internet, clicked into the default search bar, and typed: _‘VENEXIA @ LADONIA WHO IS ZEDEKIAH ASHTAD’_.

An online typing program opened, displaying the text: _‘No one to worry about’_

_‘Explain’_

“We have an outgoing message from our side!” a monitor told the room.

The computer screen at the front of the room now read: _‘Zedekiah, calm down. You’re scaring the humans.’_

_‘That’s not an explanation,’_ Feliciano wrote.

“Oh God,” someone said, sounding scared. Feliciano checked the screen again. No one had said anything about an incoming message, but-

_‘To the Venetian emergency situation meeting,’_ the new message began. That _was_ particularly unsettling. _‘And all the other humans who are panicking needlessly across the galaxy. This is Donner von Maskinsjälen of the VRD Intelligence Service. Zedekiah Ashtad is no threat. He is the beginning of the next step in galactic communication and political management. Say hello to the first publically-operating AI. He lives in the Theiostea digital system and he’s looking for friends as he starts to manage the intersystem communication and offering his bureaucratic services to the cities of Theiostea.’_

_‘VENEXIA @ LADONIA WHO GAVE YOU FUCKING PERMISSION TO PUT AN AI IN THE THEIOSTEA INTERNET’_

_‘I don’t **need** anyone’s permission, Venice,’ _Ladonia put into the typing program, and then remotely shut down the computer.

* * *

“Ladonia was one thing,” China said. “But this is something _entirely_ different, Prussia!”

“General,” Gilbert corrected stiffly.

“Despite appearances, _General_ Beilschmidt,” China continued. “The digital systems of humanity are _not_ your personal playground.”

“I don’t think they are,” Gilbert told him. “But I’ve been saying it and I’ll say it again- this wasn’t my project. I _deliberately_ stayed out of it. If you want to know what’s going on, you have to talk to Don or János.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you bring János, then?” Lovino wanted to know.

“He’s off-planet,” Gilbert said. “He’s seeding the rest of the first crop of AIs. They’ve been raising up a few, and it was time to get them planted in their systems. Zedekiah was just the most excitable of the bunch, Don told me.”

_“’They’?”_ Iran asked.

“Don and János and Blitzen- the first AI. He stays with János. I know they had Theiostea, Mars, Enceladus, Haero, Helike, Qecarro, and Traevsabr to do, and then some stuff to talk about to some of us when János got back, but no I _don’t_ have any idea about that, so don’t bother asking.”

“No Honalenier worlds,” Ivan observed. He was lounging in his chair, still possessed of the supreme unconcern of a world power.

The Hunt was one, of sorts, and Gilbert wasn’t going to not acknowledge that just because the situation was complicated. Once upon a time, being a world power was about the strength of your economy, and your military, and usually your cultural influence. But there was a new axis to the equation- space power.

Martinach-Liechtenstein had money, but it had money internally. It controlled half of the trade from Honalee, but that was about the extent of their economic influence on anyone else on Earth. The closest thing they had to standing military was the Hunt, because though Switzerland’s old rules about military service had provisions for reinstatement on the books, they’d never yet been activated. Their cultural influence would have been negligible, but technically they _were_ responsible for the Genists. They by no means controlled them, though, so it wasn’t as though that was anything exploitable.

But the definition between Martinach-Liechtenstein and the Hunt was a matter of semantics more often than not, when it came to certain matters of power. In this grayer area, they controlled the flow of people and goods across the Earth-Honalenier border; they were the only one with material, enforceable international authority; they were the only ones who really dealt with the Pict and the Ramman; and, most importantly, they were one of the few countries to have strong, unquestionably loyal ties with their colonies and the means to get to space quickly and relatively easily.

 “The Honalenier worlds are protected by the Jagdsprinz,” Gilbert said to Ivan. “Don knows better than to go where he hasn’t been invited, when it comes to the Hunt.”

“You said they want to talk to _‘us’_?” Cuba asked. “Is that an _us-‘us’_ or a more general _‘us’_ , ‘cause here I was thinking that we were a _secret_ group.”

“Don,” Gilbert said. “Could you just get in here and explain this yourself?”

The rest of the group was less than pleased to have Don suddenly appear- especially Iran, since it was her living room they were meeting in.

Don ran through is whole pitch piece- ease of communication, military and strategic advantages, and National companionship- for the group. The room was quiet after he’d finished, tension knocked down a couple of notches but not yet gone.

“But the most important thing,” Don continued, surprising everyone. Gilbert couldn’t recall there being more to the speech than this- what else could there be to cover? “Is to realize that a new AI needs what a new Nation needs.”

What?

“They need a parent and a friend and role model, all in one,” Don told them. “János and I were that for Blitzen, and then Blitzen helped us both out a bit with Zedekiah and Karla and Edwin and Stephana and the others before they went out to be seeded. But we can’t do that for all of them; and it will be _limiting_ to them not to have more foundational experience. So for the next group-“

He presented them with the illusion of taking a deep breath.

“The idea for some of them,” he explained to the others. “Was for them to be like Blitzen. They’re meant to grow up into an enclosed system, to be friend and assistant to whoever they’re partnered with. None of the AIs for this group wanted that. But János and I are going to make more for the next group, and some of them might want to have that. So I want Nations- or Jäger, but that doesn’t really matter here- to raise the next group. They might stay around or they might decide to go on a planetary network, but I’d like for all of you to take one.”

He paused.

“Well, not the General,” he amended. “We’re already partnered.”

“What if we don’t _want_ AI running rampant in our systems?” China asked sharply.

“They _will_ be born,” Don said. “But is the raising of them _really_ a job you want to leave to humans? Because if the Nations don’t agree, and the Hunt doesn’t agree, then that where I’ll have to go. AI depend on their systems the same way Nations depend on their people, so I ask you- is there a good reason _not_ to expand into giving patronage to the development of AI, the same way you’ve been patronizing the development of Nation’s rights?”

* * *

Lovino had been the one to bring Feliciano the AI he was supposed to raise. He’d heard that János had brought most of the other ones parceled out to their new homes, but for some reason Lovino had been the one to do it for him.

“What?” Lovino asked sharply when Feliciano hesitated taking the portable storage the baby AI was crammed into. “You raised children, you can handle teaching an AI.”

“It’s not that,” Feliciano told him. “It’s- I’m worried.”

“AI apocalypse?” his brother asked. “Robot uprising? I heard from Cristino that János can undo whatever it is he does to make some computer code a person, and they can’t stop him. And I know János thinks that the Hunt would be able to kill one.”

“They don’t have a body to kill.”

“I didn’t say it was going to be _easy,_ ” Lovino said. “The Hunt’s inventive and they like killing shit in the name of justice. It’ll get done if something happens.”

“It’s not the AI,” Feliciano told him. “It’s-”

He had to stop himself.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you,” he told Lovino apologetically.

Lovino looked offended for a second, but then took a breath and forced himself to relax.

“National security?” he asked.

“State secrets,” Feliciano said, taking the AI. “I’ll talk to Amphitrite, Lovino, I’ll be okay.”

“I saw her coming in, you want me to send her up if she’s still there?”

“If she wants to come,” Feliciano told him. He was still wondering if he was supposed to plug the AI into his tablet or if he was supposed to get one of the wearable set-ups János and Gilbert had put together for themselves and their AIs, so they could see and hear Blitzen or Don in all sorts of situations and get interfaces on whatever surface they pleased- it seemed like it might be convenient once he got used to it- when Amphitrite entered his office.

“ _‘State secrets’_?” she asked. “I was not aware that we were in the business of keeping worrying secrets.”

“It’s the secrets we were shown,” Feliciano told her, and left the AI on his desk to come around his desk and sit down on the loveseat against the wall, where Amphitrite could join him. He could go on the Internet and ask Don about it later. “The Uaclleon shipyards, specifically.”

“Oh?”

“The Hunt has their own space navy,” he said. “That’s what we were shown. Maybe it’s not like how humanity has imagined it, with laser guns and ship-to-ship fighting and space-to-planet weapons- but those blackjets, you could fit a few in the cargo hold of a carrack. The carracks don’t have to go through a gate. They could show up anywhere, like right on top of the atmosphere of some planet, drop the blackjets, and then-”

He clapped his hands together, once.

“-instant air force,” he said. “Now, we’ve got surface-to-air defenses on Earth, and a bunch of fighters to counter it, but the colonies aren’t militarized one bit. They haven’t needed to be. It was worrying enough that the Hunt could have ground forces anywhere in the galaxy on short notice, but now they’ll have air support. Or their air forces will have ground support, either way.”

Amphitrite was looking at him like she was worried his grasp on reality was slipping.

“It is the _Hunt,_ ” she said. “If you are arming because you are worried about them, then you have something to hide. If _we-_ ”

“No, no, Amphitrite,” Feliciano told her quickly. “We’re not keeping secrets the Hunt can come for us for. But that’s not how it works on Earth- militaries try to keep up. The only reason there hasn’t been an arms race about this is because the blackjets and the carracks are the best-kept military secret in all of humanity right now. But eventually somebody else is going to find out, and they’ll start developing something, and then it _will_ be an arms race. So I just- I don’t know if we should get into this _now_ or not. If _we_ started development, then _we_ might start the arms race. I don’t want to be that person.”

“If anyone attacks us,” Amphitrite said. “Then the Hunt will defend us, under Treaty.”

“Yes,” Feliciano agreed. “But I’d like to be able to defend _ourselves,_ too. And it’s not just here- if there’s a problem on the colonies, or if somebody figures out space piracy, or if it turns out there’s been smuggling, or the AIs-”

He glanced back at his desk.

“There’s just a lot that could go wrong, is all.”

“War is the Hunt’s business,” Amphitrite maintained. “And piracy is a violation of the law and trade, and so _also_ a reason for the Hunt. We have Honalenier in our settlements- the Jagdsprinz would be obligated to manage it.”

“The Hunt can’t be _everywhere,_ Amphitrite!” Feliciano exclaimed. This was getting a little exasperated, and he wished they hadn’t gotten onto the topic of Hunt. They never _quite_ argued about it, per se; but just because there hadn’t been an _argument_ didn’t mean that disagreements didn’t make things a little strained. “They can’t be like the VRG Intelligence, seeing everything! And we shouldn’t be relying on them for all this-”

He would have stopped there, but it was just an opening for Amphitrite to ask _“Why not?”_ and start talking about how things were in Honalee. He knew full well the state of things in Honalee.

“-because it’s a point of pride, _that’s_ why,” he answered for the question they both knew she would have asked. “It’s proving to other countries and other Nations that we’re able to care for our own. _Not_ doing it makes us look weak- and not having the forces to do it actually _does_ make us weak.”

“The Hunt is perfectly reliable,” Amphitrite said. “We will not be weak in trusting them.”

“ _‘The Lord is my strength and my shield’_ ,” Feliciano muttered derisively under his breath, quoting Psalms. “ _‘My heart trusts in him, and I am helped’_.”

“What did you just say?” Amphitrite asked.

“Nothing.”

Amphitrite gave him a look- she may have missed the words, but the tone would have still been clear- and didn’t press the matter.

“The Hunt has grown much larger under Teufelmördor than it ever was under Erlkönig,” she said. “They have garrisons outside of the Jagdshall- some of them along with the colonists. We sent them with the _Ludovicio Manin specifically_ to act as police. I do not see why they cannot do the same for the rest of space.”

“Because _it’s not their territory._ ”

“South Italy is not their territory either,” she reminded him. “And yet- a force in Naples, to oversee the government.”

“You’d never convince the other governments to accept it,” Feliciano said. “They’ve been talked around to the AIs because they agree that they’d be useful- _necessary-_ if the Pict or the Ramman ever decided to-”

He stopped.

“Feliciano?”

“I-” he said. “I just- You’re right, it _could_ be done. I just-”

He shook his head a little.

“I shouldn’t,” Feliciano murmured to himself. “I _shouldn’t_.”

* * *

The amount of trepidation in his secretary’s voice when she called _“Sir?”_ into his office had Gilbert reaching for his gun. He unholstered it and placed it in his lap, where he could reach it if he really needed to. He had no idea what would scare his secretary like that- the Pict, maybe.

Not that a gun would do any good on the Pict, but he’d go down fighting if he was going to go down.

“They can come in, Hilda,” he called; and then immediately regretted it.

“Get the hell out of my office,” he spat. “You’re not welcome here, on my orders and in the interests of national security!”

“What about interstellar security?” Venice asked.

“I can shoot you for trespassing and suspicion of espionage.”

“It would be a diplomatic incident.”

Gilbert brought his gun up on the desk.

“You want to go explain to your government that you got shot over exploiting my brother?” he asked. “It’s been about a hundred and fifty years since the book came out; I’m sure everyone else could use a good reminder of the details.”

“You want to explain to _your_ government that you shot a foreign head of state over a personal issue from about _two_ hundred and fifty years ago?” Feliciano asked in turn. “I’m sure they’d be very pleased with you.”

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“Nia’s got the only functional space navy in the entirety of human-controlled space and I think that trying to counter it would start an arms race so we should hook up the Hunt and the AIs the same way that Lovino hooked up Genism and government oversight so that in the event of the Pict attacking or a shooting war between the Pict and the Ramman they get hit first and the rest of us have time to prepare or negotiate.”

Gilbert froze up for a moment.

“You,” he said carefully. “Want to throw Nia to the wolves in the case of a threat against humanity.”

“I want to put the Hunt where they say they belong,” Venice told him. “At the forefront of law enforcement and as the first line of international defense.”

_‘Is this what you mean when you talk about Venetian diplomacy?’_ Don asked.

“That would be a long game,” Gilbert said.

“It’s no game. It’s a strategy.”

_‘It’s a good strategy,’_ Don told him. _‘Venice- he?- is right.’_

“ _‘She’_ ,” Gilbert told him, in the undertone he’d perfected for talking to Don while having a conversation with someone else. “Left hand, fourth finger, gold ring- she.”

“It took me six whole months to decide to walk in here, okay,” Feliciano said. “You can listen to me when I say that the AI are already supposed to be the emergency plan in case of aliens; but they could be backed up with the Hunt. When they’re not actively under threat or on a Hunt, they could be the police.”

“The colonies already _have_ police,” Gilbert told her.

“Supplement the police, then.”

“If you want to talk about the Hunt, get out of my city and go to Martinach,” he told her. “I haven’t got any power over them.”

“But you and Don are responsible for the AIs,” Feliciano said. “And I’m the one who stands to gain or lose the most depending on how this goes. We should go to Martinach together.”

_‘Don’t go to Martinach,’_ Don advised. _‘You should both know better.’_

It wasn’t _his_ fault Nia was-

She was Ludwig’s daughter and he wasn’t going to think those words about her. He’d promised the memory of his brother that much, and he owed it to himself to keep it.

“Don,” Gilbert said out loud, at a level Feliciano could hear. “Is Marschall Braginski on Earth or space-side?”

There was a moment’s pause as Don checked.

“He’s on Uaclleon right now,” he reported.

“Then could you call Ilya and ask him to tell the Marschall I’d like to see him, preferably right now if he can get away?”

“ _We’d_ like to see him,” Feliciano put in.

It took about five minutes of tense silence before Ivan, assisted by his access to the World Gate, turned up.

“I did not believe it,” he said, pausing as soon as he took in the room. “Ilya told that Don told him _‘General Beilschmidt and Razanás Venexia’_ \- but I did not believe it until this moment. You are both in the same room without disaster.”

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it!” Gilbert snapped at him.

Ivan spread his arms.

“It is an improvement,” he said.

“It’s not an improvement!” Gilbert said. “It’s Venice-”

_Fuck._ He should have thought this out a little more before he opened his mouth.

“She’s had,” he grit out. “A decent strategic idea about the defense of the colonies.”

* * *

The initial talk with Ivan in Gilbert’s office in the later months of 2273 slowly spiraled out of control.

Ivan had agreed with him, at least, about the potential of pairing up the AIs and potential Hunt garrisons. He’d gone rather thoughtful, and taken some paper from Gilbert to start making hierarchical flow charts. That was the point at which Feliciano had left. He’d said his piece, and it was unpleasant enough being in the same room as Gilbert without the General having _accused_ him of having such cold-hearted ulterior motives about Nia.

He kept telling himself the accusation wasn’t true, but sometimes he half-believed it himself. He was still hurt enough-

The idea stayed internal to the Hunt for a few years, while Ivan reviewed the colonies and talked around the Departments and the inner circle of the Regiments- Nico, the old Irvinkallrene members, Ly Erg, the Kascheiyivna sisters, Boreas, Dariya.

The next time Feliciano had heard anything about it was around 2280, because somehow Nia’s ongoing, intermittent complaints to the other Kings about her difficulties populating the Honalenier planets with Honalenier even though she’d _promised_ Nanshe had turned into a bid to open the Honalenier planets to human settlement.   

“She was frustrated,” Amphitrite explained to him. “It was clearly an outburst of temper and not a serious suggestion, but word spread and the story was altered.”

Everything else got put on hold as the Hunt started to work around all the Kings but Nanshe, Möngkedai, and Amphitrite to allow Earth human settlement. That took almost a decade of politicking, until the other Kings mostly just gave up and were ready to sign over the planets from shared Honalenier territory to property of the Hunt to settle the matter- none of the others but Nanshe and Amphitrite cared about space.

_That_ should have gone smoothly, but the UN heard about it and a few people contested such a change in the original Treaty, so then the Hunt had to go to the Pict and the Ramman and get _their_ permission, and so by the time the whole matter was settled it was almost the beginning of the next century.

But 2297 had brought a second solution to the worries about the colonies, so then both Feliciano’s original idea and the change in Treaty terms got caught up in _that._ A proposal to expand the UN to the colonies- or perhaps provide a UN-like auxiliary body to the UN out of the colonies, it wasn’t entirely clear and there were different schools of thought about that- had gotten popular, and so there was yet another party to negotiate with.

The work had finished by the beginning of this year, 2319- and so, Feliciano and Amphitrite were now in the new Colonial Space Council building on Haero, in the extensive residential wing for stationed diplomats and visiting dignitaries.

“Are you done talking yet?” he asked Marinetti.

_‘You were busy,’_ his AI told him.

“Well now we’re waiting on you,” Feliciano informed him. “Who’s so interesting, anyway?”

_‘Idunn,’_ Marinetti told him. _‘She’s really interesting, I wouldn’t have thought so since Jacques has so little to talk about but Idunn knows so **much** about the Hunt and Honalee and all **sorts** of things, and she can’t tell me about all of them but the **hints-** ’_

“And what does Stephana think about this?”

_‘Stephana likes Idunn too, and Thomas- and **Ilya,** I don’t know why she likes **Ilya** he’s-’_

Marinetti thought it over for a second.

_‘He fancies that he’s some sort of knight,’_ he confided to Feliciano. _‘I think he’s been around Jäger a little too much.’_

“I meant the fact that you’re making us late,” Feliciano told him.

_‘ **I’m** not making you late; **you’re** the one who’s standing around talking instead of going places.’_

“Marinetti,” Feliciano said, holding his arm out for Amphitrite to take. “ _You’re_ the one who’s supposed to tell us how to get to the treaty room, and you haven’t yet.”

_‘Oh,’_  Marinetti said, sounding a little ashamed, and guided them through the hallways.

The Treaty for the Formation of the Colonial Space Council wasn’t very long. It had only two sections- the first was essentially the constitution of the new body, which required the signatures of all the colonial officials as well as their technical superiors back on Earth; and the second was all about the Hunt. Everyone who agreed to be in the Colonial Space Council also agreed to have a Hunt presence in the case of emergency involving aliens, and to accept the Hunt as an oversight body and a paramilitary auxiliary force to the police, to become involved in the case of international dispute, shipping, or suspected witchcraft or other breaking of the law with magic.

This treaty also officially signed over the Honalenier planets to be Hunt planets, instead. The Hunt planets were members of the CSC, but in a more limited capacity- they had the right to the floor of debate, and individual representatives- but they all shared one set of offices, and weren’t appointed to any committees or sub-committees, and didn’t have a vote.

All in all, it was a historic day- but it was more of an important day for the Hunt than anything. When they walked in, he spotted where Nia was with Ivan and Lord Hiruz, and kept to the other side of the room. János was over here, lurking, and Amphitrite would probably want to talk to him anyway. The Wanderer caught them up on the latest in news from space, and talked a little about AIs, until the meeting started.

Feliciano sat through it until the signing because he had to, and held Amphitrite’s hand the entire time. He didn’t check to see if Nia was glaring at him, and let Marinetti chatter through everything about Idunn and Thomas and his other AI friends.


	9. Further Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that readers will probably need a map to understand placement, since it's not like you can look at a map of Earth for this chapter if you get confused, so you can find a map of the galaxy here: http://siphilemon.tumblr.com/post/123943183448/this-upcoming-chapter-is-so-intense-youll

Nikolaus woke up with blood sticking his shirt to his chest and his throat still hurting from where it had been slit. He reached up to carefully touch the healing wound. His fingers came away damp.

His ears were ringing and his head was pounding-

No, they weren’t ringing, those were gunshots; it wasn’t pounding, those were soldiers-

How did he know that.

“Mathan?” he whispered. “General Wähner?”

He rolled over, slowly, hoping if he didn’t move too fast he wouldn’t tear open his wound again.

Heng’s shoes were a nice, pale lilac still at the toes, but the heel and a bit more of the back of the slippers were dark red where the blood was soaked in. Nikolaus laid there staring at them for some time, maybe minutes, but he’d heard that seconds could feel like minutes, in traumatic situations, but either way he had probably stayed here too long.

He levered himself up on one arm and looked over Heng’s legs, trying to ignore her own slit throat. It was much deeper than his own.

Beyond Heng were Valdag and Raganhar- Valdag had had his head smashed in, and Raganhar was dead but he couldn’t see what had done it.

Johanna and Katyusha weren’t here. They had been before, but not now.

Generalleutnant Ryers was down and someone had stripped her of her AI interface, and her weapons. The interface’s hard components were lying smashed on the floor next to her, and the soft parts- the cloth gloves and the wires- had been cut up, and set on fire.

“Peter?” he asked, trying to stand. He got only a few inches up before he fell down again, dizzy and disoriented- _his people his people his people-_

Nikolaus pulled himself over Heng’s legs to get to the smashed interface.

“Peter!” he said again. Mathan wasn’t responding either but they had to get word out-

It looked like Generalleutnant Ryers had been stabbed with her own officer’s knife multiple times, after she’d been shot. It was a little difficult to tell, because the black of the Hunt’s uniform coat didn’t show blood all that well, but one of the legs of her gray pants was red all down on side.

She was lying on someone.

“Selah?”

Nikolaus tried to move Generalleutnant Ryers, but the planet he shared this system with had fisted her hands in the back of the Jager’s coat and was whispering something, the sound wet and sucking.

It was like the stories he’d been told, then. Nations really could keep from dying if they concentrated hard enough.

She was whispering the same thing over and over, eyes screwed shut. Selah had some sorcerer’s training, and he knew enough to recognize it as Irkallan- a spell.

She’d brought her government leaders with her, and they were all dead in a different area of the room, where they’d been talking to one another earlier. The government leaders that he’d brought were mixed in there with them.

Generalleutnant Ryers wasn’t dead. There was blood everywhere but she was being forced to keep breathing and her body producing more blood to be moved around and eventually drain out onto the ground, but she wasn’t dead. Selah was keeping her alive.

“I’m going-”

Nikolaus coughed.

“Selah, I’m going to go find Johanna and Katyusha,” he promised her, making himself stand. “And General Wähner, and _Razanás Zōngguó_ \- and-”

 His people, save his people- he didn’t know how to fight. He was too young, he was only twenty-seven. Katyusha wasn’t a fighter by nature but he had the shipyards and _Dyadya_ Vanya had taught him; and Johanna had the training academy on her planet, _she_ knew things.

“-and doctors, for Generalleutnant Ryers and everyone else-”

Trying to walk made him stumble a bit, but it wasn’t very far until the door.

He almost fell against it more than reached it, but it was mounted so it would open outwards.

Nikolaus let his body weight open the door rather than attempting motor control, and when it swung open he was shot about twenty times in the back for his trouble.

* * *

He woke up after his second death in his own bed, to the darkness behind his own eyes, with the names of the dead at the forefront of his mind.

It set him to shaking- he wanted to go back to unconsciousness, where he didn’t know that his federal government officials were gone, all the way down to the almost all of the interns and back-room secretaries; and that the citizens of Atarah- his people, his _capital_ \- had been decimated in wholesale slaughter.

“Klaus.”

There was a hand in his hair. He wasn’t lying down flat on the mattress. He shifted so he could move his arms, to wrap them around the body behind him and cling, and turned his face into the warmth.

“Nikolaus- _hundchen,_ it’s all right. You’re safe.”

“ _Elti_ ,” he whimpered, and she held him tighter. Something dropped onto his shoulder and slithered around his neck, cool where it touched his skin, and poked into the warm spot between them.

“Hi, Arik,” he mumbled, and a snake’s tongue flicked out against his cheek.

Someone fell against him suddenly, making him wheeze.

“Klaus! Klaus-”

“Isolde,” _Elti_ said. “You’re squishing us- move off.”

_Elti_ and Arik _and_ Isolde?

Nikolaus let go of his _Elti_ enough to roll over and see who else was here, staying pressed up against her side for comfort.

Isolde was kneeling on the bed just below his feet now that she’d moved away. On this same side of the room, Lilieanna and Leberecht were sharing a chair- Lilieanna properly sitting in it, the much bigger Leberecht on one of the arms. Azer- he’d had to have come out from even farther than Leberecht, Nikolaus was surprised to see _him-_ wasn’t sitting. It looked like he’d been pacing about.

_Dyadya_ Vanya was at the foot of his bed, hands resting on the footboard. He smiled when Nikolaus got to him.

Katyusha and Johanna were on _Elti_ ’s side of the bed.

There were people missing.

“Michele-” he started to ask.

“He is on Earth with Liesl, raising help,” _Dyadya_ Vanya told him.

That made sense- _Elti_ was here, so Liesl would still be in Martinach-Liechtenstein to run things. Michele could help her, where Isolde usually did, and learn some things.

“Raganhar?” he asked. “Oskar?”

Raganhar had been at the meeting and Nikolaus had seen him dead, and Ubrilles was just the next planet over, going anti-spin on the Perseus Bridge. He should have been here just as easily as Oskar could be from Oetrbyke, which wasn’t on one of the lightspeed lanes but could gate to Iohines or Eridrea to get to one. The next stop from either planet was the Griolara-Greylea system.

“Selah-”

“Selah’s fine,” _Elti_ told him. “She’s helping Generalleutnant Ryers to the meeting your brother and Ivan and I are going to in a couple minutes.”

“Raganhar and-”

“Nikolaus,” his _Elti_ interrupted him gently. “We can’t raise the Oetrbyke garrison, and Oskar hasn’t called in. Ubrilles was captured- Ragi went home to be with his people.”

_Captured?_ The garrison wasn’t responding- people didn’t _drop away_ like that-   

“But Azer is here,” he said. “Docury is all the way out at the edge of the galaxy, he had to-”

“I went up the Outer Arm to Eustra, and then didn’t go any further that way when I heard,” Azer told him. “I got on a schooner going to Zeshan instead.”

Zeshan was on the other side of Eridrea, at the end of the Orion Arm, the next part of the galaxy towards the core from the Outer Arm. But that shouldn’t have made any difference; because Eustra didn’t have a gate and you’d have to up the Outer Bridge to Traevsabr- which was the next stop after Eustra going that way- _anyway_ to get to one; or go up the Orion Pass from there to Iohines, which _had_ the gate out to Oetrbyke.

“We went to Zeshan straight from Eustra,” Azer explained, picking up on his younger brother’s confusion.

“That would have taken you _months,_ ” Nikolaus said. “There’s not a lightspeed path-”

“There is now,” Azer said. “We made it in the _ANV Argento_.”

“You can’t just-” Nikolaus started to say, horrified. “They could have all _died,_ Azer!”

“Better trying that than going into a dead zone,” his brother said.

A dead zone- that was for an area where you had no communications, no indications of life. There were swathes of dead zone throughout the galaxy, where there weren’t any habitable planets. The rest of the universe was a dead zone. Pict Space was a dead zone, since no one went in and the Pict were the ones who sent goods out to trade on the border planets, mostly Brioclite.

Technically most of the galaxy was a dead zone, but people didn’t think about it like that. It seemed like most of it was livable space when you had set lanes to follow and never saw anything but livable planets, because there was no reason for further, expensive space exploration when most of the planets- though everything from the Tripartite Treaty had settlements now- hadn’t been thoroughly gone over.

There shouldn’t be any dead zones on the lightspeed lanes. You shouldn’t have to make a new one to go around a dead zone. This was- that was _wrong,_ that left him nauseous-

“Reut,” he said. “She-”

“In the dead zone,” _Elti_ told him. “The entire Outer Arm between Genov and Eustra has gone dark, and we’ve lost communication on the Perseus Arm anti-spin from here up to Theiostea, corewards to Lonia and Ushippe.”

The Theiostea Pass lightspeed path went from Brioclite, on the Outer Arm where it came out of Pict Space, to Theiostea on the Perseus Arm, and then Lonia and Ushippe to Earth. They weren’t in communication with a good two-thirds of colonized space.

“We know that Ubrilles is dark because it has been taken,” _Dyadya_ Vanya said. “So we assume that the rest of the dead zone is due to this as well, and not some other type of catastrophe.”

_Elti_ tipped her head, the way she had when Idunn was saying something in her ear.

“Meeting time,” she said, shifting out from under him to leave the bed. “Ivan, Arik.”

“Captured by who?” Nikolaus asked, sitting up. “ _Elti_?”

She smiled briefly at him, but didn’t say anything, only giving him a kiss on his hair before leaving.

“ _Dyadya_ Van-”

Marschall Braginski shut the door behind him.

Nikolaus turned to his youngest sister.

“ _Who,_ Lilieanna?”

She didn’t want to say.

“I lost-” he said. “I didn’t save my people.”

“No one expected you to, Klaus,” Johanna told him. “You haven’t got any training.”

“But I didn’t and they’re _dead,_ ” he said. “So at least tell me who _killed_ them! _Who was it?_ ” 

* * *

Generalleutnant Eleanor Ryer’s posting was Greylea, which meant that she was in charge of all the Hunt’s operations on the planet.

On most planets, this meant you moved around the different capitals- usually the first five to seven cities settled by some country or collection of countries from off Earth- if it was an unconsolidated world; or just stayed in whatever the global capital was if it was one of the consolidated worlds. Regardless of which, a posting had a staff of about a hundred, consisting in the most part of the local Oversight Commission, run by a Leutnant from the Intelligence and Internal Affairs department, to keep tabs on the government. With them was a Leutnant from Supply and Finance, who not only handled the budget and keeping everyone stocked in supplies and food, but was technically the commanding officer for the two Department Kommandants seconded to them- one from Diplomacy and Public Relations, for those instances when something had to be brought to the press; and one from Stables and Kennels, to keep track of the horses. There were fifty Dragoner and twenty or thirty Husar on a posting of this sort, and they all had horses, even if they didn’t use them all the time, or often, with their own Kommandanten and a third Leutnant, who was more final arbitrator of any disputes that arose between the Kommandanten and the person who liaised with Supply and Finance than any sort of actual commanding officer.

On Greylea, that shared a system with a Hunt world, and had four out of six close neighbors either directly under the legal purview of the Hunt or- as with Shariya, their closest non-Hunt ally- the global government was very comfortable with having a foreign power operating on their soil. Greylea had almost a full garrison, and she didn’t have to deal with the tricky and changing winds of political alignment nearly as much as on, say, Algarth, which was infamous in the Hunt for it’s consistent personal dislike of Hunt oversight by individual officials while institutionally being very friendly with them. _That_ was one massive headache of a situation.

The Hunt didn’t feel very foreign, on Greylea- which was why they’d been having the meeting in the first place. It was the formal presentation of Greylea’s wish to switch over from humanity’s terms in the Tripartite Treaty to Honalee’s terms. Nowadays, that meant being under control of the Jagdsprinz, and also that they wouldn’t have a vote in the Colonial Space Council that met on Haero- but it was the best way to break from their parent country back on Earth. Alarming the Balto-Slavonic Democratic Republic wouldn’t have caused problems if it had been someone from Earth- but a seceding colony was a lot of people’s worst nightmare, what people thought would start a war.

Seceding to go under the power of the galaxy’s international law enforcement seemed like the best way to go. It helped that they were such good neighbors.

Eleanor liked to think that her example, and the standards she held her subordinates and visiting Hunt officers to, had helped that along.

There wasn’t supposed to have been an attack. This was supposed to have _prevented_ the outbreak of violence.

Ever since she’d woken up in the hospital bed and found Selah Rusnak, _Razanás_ Greylea, sitting by her bedside and trying not to cry, she’d been trying to figure out who would attack over this. She couldn’t think of a single person, or group, or _anything._

It didn’t help that she’d been informed by General Wähner, her immediate superior, that Greylea and Griolara had avoided being taken; but Ubrilles and Iohines _hadn’t_ been. This system was now the furthest point out on the front lines of whatever conflict this was.

No one had said _‘war’_ yet, but she knew that was because they were trying to avoid having to figure out how to fight, and _win,_ a space war.

It was Selah who told her she had a meeting, and helped her over to the room where it was being held.

Eleanor would have been just as happy never to have gone, once she saw who else was in the meeting.

It was as much a matter of who _was_ there as who wasn’t.

General Wähner she’d expected to see, and General Adimari, since they were in charge of the Inner Orion section of the galaxy- _here_ \- and the Uaclleon shipyards, respectively. Likewise, Generalleutnant Yorath ap Wynfor, the Tylwyth man who had her job on Griolara; and Generalleutnant Lorenz, from Uaclleon; Generalleutnant Gernot, from Shariya; and Generalleutnant Bernat, from Eridrea. Those were the nearest planets that they had contact with, and there was every reason for them to be here.

She hadn’t expected General D’aramtiz, from Sagittarius section; or General Bayarigh from Inner Perseus; or General Eisenhart from Brioclite.

General Eisenhart was the one who first made her the most uneasy. She’d come halfway across the galaxy, leaving the main contact point with the Pict, which was one of the strategically-critical Hunt garrisons, which she’d been assigned to because of her experience on Theiostea and her ruthlessness. If, or more likely _when,_ the Pict made their move, General Eisenhart was one of the point people to get the news out and take them head-on.

General Eisenhart had been pulled from watching the Pict across the border, but General Vuković, who was in charge of Toxotes section- just next door, right over the lightspeed path- wasn’t present. Nor was Generalleutnant Havener, from Ubrilles.

No one had been able to tell her what was happening on Ubrilles- what had happened to the Jäger there. None of them had reported in, in person after retreating, or through any digital means.  

“You’re still hurt,” General Wähner told her. Eleanor realized she’d been staring, worrying about the composition of the room. “Sit down- the Jagdsprinz won’t mind.”

The Jagdsprinz was here, but that was no surprise. Someone had attacked planets under her control. Likewise, Marschall Braginski, who was in charge of all of Jäger in Further Space- everything that wasn’t in Earth’s system or Honalee. Marschall Lord Hiruz was harder to work out. He was meant to watch over Honalee, and Honalee had nothing to do with this- but the Jagdsprinz oversaw everything for Earth’s system, so likely it was to have both of the Marschalls informed, since either could have to act for her if she ordered.

But General Agresta for the Zauber- _and_ Witchbreaker Generalleutnant Demyanev? Untermarschall Agresta, in charge of all the Departments’ affairs _everywhere-_ _and_ General Yurivitch of Logistics, _and_ General Trygve Ljungstrand of Supply and Finance?

General Arik Beilschmidt wasn’t really a surprise, given that he was supposed to _know_ about these sorts of things before they happened; but his presence was worrying with the way he was clumping with Generalleutnant Costa, in charge of the Workshop in Martinach, and Leutnant Mäelle Beilschmidt. She was officially only the Jager in charge of Martinach’s Diplomacy and Public Relations Department- but unofficially, she ran Intelligence for Martinach-Liechtenstein, which most people didn’t even know, or thought, existed. It was a very quiet, self-contained sort of place, the Martinach-Liechtenstein intelligence agency.

The people in this room were the commanders of the nearest planets, Eleanor realized as General Wähner had her sit down, the Generals of the sections bordering the new dead zone, and the highest-ranked Departments staff that would need to be concerned with the things a war would bring- large movements of people, supplies, and money.

This was the first meeting of a war.

“I know everyone’s been in the dark about this,” the Jagdsprinz said to open the meeting. The Generals were clearly used to how she operated, because as soon as she started talking they dropped their conversations and went to their seats. Eleanor’s fellow Generalleutnant took a couple more seconds to respond. “And that’s because we don’t have a lot of information ourselves. But it’s very obvious that the attack on Griolara is part of a larger offensive by a group or groups unknown, and covers the new dead zone in colonized space. It started in the early morning of the day of the Griolara attack around Toria and spread spinwards towards Traevsabr along the Outer Arm, and then claimed Oqioshea and started down the Perseus Arm through to Qecarro; and then Ubrilles and Griolara were attacked, as far as we can tell, simultaneously. We have extremely little information about Ubrilles, but here we have three Jäger officers who were on the ground in Griolara at the time of the attack-”

That would have been herself, and General Wähner, and- oh, Yorath.

“-who saw the most of the situation.”

Eleanor wasn’t sure if it was proper, but-

“Jagdsprinz?”

The Jagdsprinz looked at her.

“I didn’t see anything, sir,” when her Prince didn’t acknowledge her in any other way. “I was dying.”

“That’s why you’re going first, Generalleutnant Ryers. If you’d start from the meeting you were attending- everything you remember.”

Eleanor was waved up around the table, despite the earlier assurance that she could sit down. The other long side of the table had been left clear of chairs and had plenty of available floor space, to serve as a sort of stage and to accommodate Marschall Lord Hiruz’s inability to fit into a chair.

“There were about fifteen of us in that meeting,” she began. “ _Razanásan_ Griolara, Greylea, Eridrea, Shariya, Ubrilles, Uaclleon, and China; then myself and General Wähner; then the Governors and Presidents of Colonial Senates for Griolara and Greylea, plus some other leading political officials from Greylea. It was the official presentation of Greylea’s intentions to join the _Groβjagdsreich-_ ”

The Jagdsprinz scowled at that, just for a second, but it was enough to make her stop.

“There’s some tricky political weight to that term, Generalleutnant Ryers,” General Agresta said mildly. “Just be mindful of using it, please.”

There was some sort of connotation to _Groβjagdsreich_? _She’d_ never heard anything about it- that was all she’d ever knew anyone to call the multi-state political entanglement that ultimately answered the Jagdsprinz.

Maybe it was an Earth thing, a Helios system thing. She’d always heard people from Further Space calling it that. They even called it that at the Hunt’s training facility on Uxcilia.

“I didn’t really see anything,” she continued. “The official portion had just ended, and everyone had started talking, and then-”

“And then?” Marschall Braginski prompted after a few moments.

“I was standing by the Governors because my casual acquaintances are all in the appointed and elected government positions,” Eleanor told them. “Governor Tesarik- the Governor of Greylea- I didn’t see anything. He was talking, and then he was full of bullet holes. Some of them went through me, too. I didn’t see anyone, and I didn’t hear any gunshots. It just happened.”

There were some glances around the table at that.

“President Adamczak was dead too,” she said. “And the others. The government officials, from Greylea _and_ Griolara. We’d all been standing together. The _Razanásan_ were talking amongst themselves on the other side of the room and-”

She stopped to think a moment.

“General Wähner was there, too, but I don’t know where exactly he was.”

“He can tell us later,” the Jagdsprinz said.

“I was shot and it was still only a few seconds after the attack started,” Eleanor continued. “But I could see that the officials were dead so I went for the _Razanásan._ Greylea is my assignment, so I went for her. I didn’t know what was going on, but I’m Jäger and she’s _Razanás_.”

The others were just looking at, her not responding. That gave her a spike of worry.

“I figured that was my duty,” she explained, a little anxiously.

Marschall Braginski just inclined his head for her to continue.

“ _Razanásan_ Uaclleon and Uxcilia responded right away,” she told them. “ _Razanás_ China demanded my gun before I’d even gotten over to the others. I stopped to think about it, and maybe I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t see anything to shoot at and so I figured that I’d have to do it unarmed, or with my knife, whenever they attacked me. So I gave him my gun and drew my knife and kept going.”

This wasn’t really something she wanted to own up to, but it was the truth.

“ _Razanás_ Eridrea had his head caved in while I paused,” Eleanor admitted. “I don’t know if I’m at fault for that or not. At this point it was myself and _Razanásan_ Greylea, Griolara, and Ubrilles alive. _Razanásan_ Uaclleon and Uxcilia had disappeared, I don’t know what they were doing or what happened to them.”

“Fighting,” the Jagdsprinz informed her.

“Well, I went for Greylea,” Eleanor said. “And I was wrong to think that I could go after the attackers unarmed or with a knife, because they shot me a couple more times and one of them got my knife. They stabbed me-”

She shook her head.

“-I don’t know how many times, and I collapsed against Greylea. She told me she kept herself and myself alive until we were rescued, but I don’t remember any of that.”

“And you never saw or heard your attackers,” the Jagdsprinz said. “Or had any idea of their movements- where they came from, how they got in, who they were going to attack next?”

“No, Jagdsprinz.”

The Jagdsprinz looked meaningfully at Lord Hiruz, but Eleanor had no idea what she meant by it. She was bid to sit back down, and General Wähner was the next to go.

“When the attack started _Razanásan_ Uaclleon and Uxcilia came immediately to me,” he said. “They weren’t armed and I was, but Johanna- _Razanás_ Uxcilia- _has_ actually gone through most of the training at Nienrade, even if it was piecemeal. _Razanás_ Uaclleon has combat instruction from Marschall Braginski, armed and unarmed, but he went immediately back home, to the shipyards, to get help. _Razanás_ Uxcilia and I had no idea who or what we were fighting, but everyone else was dead or dying already, so we retreated out of the room into the hallway, planning to leave the  building altogether, but then we saw the drop ships coming in.”

_“Drop ships?”_   Untermarschall Agresta said, aghast.

“Yeah, Diana,” General Wähner told her. “Drop ships. We could see them coming in from the windows. They were clumped together where there were large open spaces, like on the plaza in front of the buildings, and in ones or twos where there wasn’t much room- intersections of major roads, we found out from looking later.”

“How many?” General Beilschmidt demanded.

“Ships or soldiers?”

“Both. Either.”

“No idea,” General Wähner said. “We’re still doing an official count, last I heard. But there were maybe twenty or thirty to a drop ship- they were packed in- and eight of them landed in the government plaza.”

General Beilschmidt frowned, and probably started doing math in his head. His fingers were bending like he was using them to keep track of things, anyway.

“Well,” General Wähner continued. “Nations will come back and so will full, magic-using _Seelenkind,_ but I’m not either of those. There were too many soldiers in the plaza to leave the building and we had no idea who was inside it or what their capabilities were or where they were, but I thought inside would be safer. I took _Razanás_ Uxcilia as a temporary subordinate officer and we swept the building, looking for people. We managed to find some secretaries and interns who were still alive, hiding in closets and such, and we _kept_ them alive by barricading an office. I had Liane- the AI I’m partnered with- talk to Mathan, the AI in Griolara’s system, and the two of them kept us as appraised of the situation as possible. We stayed in that office until we were informed that blackjets and more Jäger had arrived from Uaclleon and Uxcilia, and had the situation under control. I would have left the office to fight with the Jäger stationed here, but Johanna is the one who can step somewhere, not me. If she’d taken me, then we would have been leaving those people alone. If she hadn’t taken me, I would have had to go through all of the soldiers, and I know better than to think that I would have survived that, outside of a Hunt.”

He paused for a moment before adding one more thing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my entire life.”

“Why?” the Jagdsprinz asked.

“I was in the Italian Civil War,” General Wähner said. “I didn’t go on the Purges but I was in Rome, since I had military experience before joining the Hunt, and I Hunted the armies. Rome and the armies were simple. We were in control. Here-”

Another pause, while he looked like he was weighing the merits of something.

“You remember what Moscow looked like, sir, when we went looking for Marschall Braginski when he was still Russia?” General Wähner asked the Jagdsprinz. “And how the _camorristi_ were after Nico and Diana got done with them? It looked like that in here, except it was _everyone._ Every room we went it to, it felt like we’d just missed the thing that had slaughtered them all. It was all so quiet, except for a couple screams, from down a hallway or up a stairwell, and the people making them always died before they could finish. My enemy was invisible. I knew I could die at any moment and there was nothing I could do about it, because I’d never see it coming. It was like a horror movie come real. If I hadn’t been reliably informed otherwise about demons, I would be standing here telling you it was a horde of demons. I’m still not entirely convinced it wasn’t ghosts, or poltergeists, or some other sort of evil spirits. I have no idea what else could make me feel…”

“Scared?” General Agresta suggested, providing the earlier warning.

“It wasn’t terror,” General Wähner told them. “I wasn’t- scared isn’t the best word. I was paranoid, strung out on nerves. But if it wasn’t for that I would say I felt like I was at the wrong end of a Hunt. The feeling was oppressive, in the same way I’ve been told being by a Hunt feels like- and whatever was in there was malevolent. It _liked_ killing, and it wanted me- everyone- dead.”

“You are _certain?_ ” Marschall Braginski asked.

“I may not have been able to see or hear them,” General Wähner said. “But I could feel that much.”

“Lord Hiruz,” the Jagdsprinz said. “Thoughts?”

Eleanor wasn’t entirely sure how an elk could look grave, but Lord Hiruz could always manage _‘serious’_ and _‘dignified’_ , and now he was doing _‘grave’_.

“I would not like to say, Jagdsprinz,” he told her. “I fear it may be prejudice. The situation General Wähner describes is disquietingly familiar.”

She didn’t press him to elaborate, only called the last officer to give testimony.

“Generalleutnant ap Wynfor- what happened at the garrison, please.”

Eleanor realized that the Jagdsprinz had already heard all of this, or at least had had the same information in a different format. _She_ knew what was going on already, and the point she was going to make. This was just to give the rest of them all of the information they needed.

 Yorath seemed extremely uncomfortable to have to talk.

No, it was more specific than that- he looked _guilty._

He shifted his weight a little, opening his mouth and closing it, clearly trying to get himself to start talking and completely unable to.

“Generalleutnant ap Wynfor,” the Jagdsprinz said after about a minute of his indecisive fidgeting.

He tried again- he really did, Eleanor could see that. Could the Jagdsprinz not? She thought it would be strange if she couldn’t, but her reputation wasn’t one of being understanding when she was angry.

When the Jagdsprinz got angry, people died. This time, _her_ people had died, and Eleanor was quite certain that there was going to be payment in blood for that. But she hoped that, in the absence of available execution targets, she wasn’t going to take anything out on Yorath. It wasn’t _his_ fault that they’d been caught off-guard, even if Griolara _was_ his responsibility.

“Shall you tell them?” the Jagdsprinz asked him. “Or shall I?”

“It is the _shame,_ Jagdsprinz,” Yorath finally managed, very quietly.

“That you share no part of.”

“My people-”

“Are not you; and you are not them,” the Jagdsprinz told him firmly. “And they’re not properly _your_ people any longer, anyway. _Lygriwr,_ each and every one.”

_Lygriwr-_ Eleanor knew she should have known that. There was a moment when she expected Peter to define it for her, and it hurt when she remembered that the remains of his interface had been collected by some of the Zauberen and sent to Martinach, to see if he could be fixed.

Other people definitely remembered what _lygriwr_ meant, because the atmosphere of the room got a lot tenser, suddenly.

“I don’t know that they _were_ all-” Yorath started to say.

“If they weren’t then,” the Jagdsprinz informed them all, with heavy finality. “They are now.”

“It wasn’t,” Generalleutnant Demyanev began; but then seemed unable to continue. He looked- scared.

He was the commanding officer of the Witchbreakers. He had been an experience sorcerer before he’d joined the Hunt, and one of the first Witchbreakers- they’d all been chosen for either extremely powerful magic, or some sort of combat proficiency, and usually both.

Eleanor wasn’t magical. She was full human, she’d gotten this job because she was good at administration and had seniority, and wanted _out_ of whatever this was.

“ _Distawydwr_ ,” Yorath confirmed, sounding on the edge of tears.

That was more Tylwyth she didn’t know, but Generalleutnant Demyanev did- as did General Yurivitch, and Marschall Lord Hiruz. The Marschall had looked up sharply at the word, ears flicking upright; General Yurivitch had gotten quite nervous, glancing around like he was dreading seeing someone lurking in the corners of the room; and Generalleutnant Demyanev’s expression went very strained.

“We don’t have contingency plans for that,” he said.

The Jagdsprinz looked at him sharply.

“Why the hell not?” she demanded. “I _want_ one, Generalleutnant, by the end of tomorrow! It can just be a preliminary if that’s the best you can do-”

General Agresta raised his hand a little.

“I have no idea what we’re talking about,” he said after Marschall Braginski nudged the Jagdsprinz into looking over at him.

“In the language of the Tylwyth,” Lord Hiruz rumbled. “ _‘The Silent Hills’_ is _‘Y Bryniau Distaw’_. Just as we named the lands from which they came for the manner of those who slaughtered us, they claimed the name of those who slaughtered us for the name of their home. The _Distawydwr- Distauveidir,_ you may have-”

“That’s not a way to curse at people in Rinnrdrusk?” Untermarschall Agresta asked. “The Orthographic Institute’s manual has it as akin to _‘Go to Hell’_ , but if it was like saying something like _‘goddamned shiteating pigfucker’_.”

Were top officials allowed to use language like that? Especially in meetings? Eleanor didn’t think they were.  

Lord Hiruz’s ears flicked back and forth.

“That may be,” he said a little stiffly. “But time has cheapened the word somewhat. I know that it is thrown about in conversation, though no one dares where _I_ can hear. I _suggest-_ ”

He looked significantly at Untermarschall Agresta.

“-that, in the future, it is compared to the way _Razanás_ General Beilschmidt reacts when Marschall Braginski makes comments in his vicinity about the Stasi.”

The Jagdsprinz glared at her other second-in-command, who didn’t look particularly contrite.

“He has set himself up for them so well,” he said, making it sound like a flippant comment. “It is so obvious, with Ladonia, and himself in charge of the military as well. And it keeps him honest, because if he is faced with a situation where he can step out of bounds, he will have the sound of my voice calling him _‘Stasi’_ in the back of his mind, and he will take the more moral course simply for the personal satisfaction of feeling he has spited me.”

The Jagdsprinz looked at him like she wanted to say something, but it seemed to Eleanor like the words got tangled up in emotions and second thoughts soon after they’d formed, so she just sat there looking angry and insulted.

“His lack of oversight concerns me,” Marschall Braginski concluded.

“Do you not trust him or something?” the Jagdsprinz demanded.

“No,” he immediately said. “Do you, Nia?”  

“So is anyone going to actually _explain,_ ” General Agresta wanted to know.

 Yorath seemed to have found his voice now that he’d broken the news.

“The _Distawydwr_ were the Tylwyth Teg’s- not special forces, I think, because that implies there weren’t that many of them,” he said. “Maybe shock troops. They glamoured themselves invisible and silent and scentless, completely undetectable; and trained specially to not leave a physical trace, such as footprints or broken grass. They were the backbone of the Tylwyth’s fighting forces, back before we had a King, and so could make war on our neighbors with impunity. Our first King outlawed the use and training of _Distawydwr-_ ”

Lord Hiruz snorted, loudly.

“-but that doesn’t mean much,” Yorath admitted. “Any Tylwyth or Tylwyth fey with any glimmer of ability to do illusions can make themselves imperceptible to the normal senses. The difficult part is learning to leave no physical traces of your passing. Our children play at trying it and are tolerated up to a certain age, unless they are _too_ good at it. It is not- _was_ not, Done, to be good at it.”

“So if they’re undetectable,” General Agresta said. “Are we assuming their existence from their absence?”

“No, sir,” Yorath said. “I killed some of them, when they attacked the garrison.”

The other Honalenier officers seemed shocked by this.

“You _killed_ them?” General Yurivitch asked.

“Unless it’s a small illusion or the person casting it is very good at control,” Yorath told him. “A Tylwyth can tell when there are glamours being used. When they glamoured the door to make it seem like they hadn’t opened it, I could tell. I could tell where the patches of illusions were. I shot my entire clip and went after the others with my knife, and a gun one of the _Distawydwr_ I killed dropped.”

“Excuse me,” Generalleutnant Costa said. “But _guns?_ We issue Tylwyth Jäger guns now, and they give up the ability to cast illusions in the meantime, so if they were carrying steel on them-”

“You’re living in our childhood, Luisa,” General Beilschmidt cut her off. “You don’t _need_ to put iron or steel in guns any longer. There’s titanium, polymers, high-stress and –heat plastics and carbon alloys- guns without a minimum steel content that sets off metal detectors are illegal on Earth and the rest of the system, and so technically in Further Space as well, but-”

He shrugged.

“They’re harder to enforce out here. Sometimes we catch a manufacturing ring, and I have the information passed on to the appropriate authorities on-planet and on Earth to break it up.”

“Could you do it for ships?” General Adimari asked.

“What?”

“Could you make a spacefaring vessel completely without steel?” he asked. “I oversee the shipyards, but that doesn’t mean I’m an engineer. I’m there for security purposes. I know that _we_ intake steel and steel parts, but could you make one without _any?_ ”

“I’m not an engineer either,” General Beilschmidt told him.

“I mean,” Generalleutnant Costa said after a moment. “I don’t see why you _couldn’t._ You’d have to make a lot of the smaller things out of something else, inside fittings and things, but-”

“I don’t care about the inside,” General Adimari told her. “I care about the _outside._ Could that be all ceramics and titanium and carbon alloys and polymers and aluminum and- anything _not_ steel? Because I brought the relief fleet in from Uaclleon, carracks carrying blackjets in the cargo holds, and we didn’t find anything. The drop ships were all down by then but we didn’t think that this was likely to be a suicide run, so we were going to shoot the drop ships down when they tried to return back to their ships with the invading soldiers who were still alive. When we got there we couldn’t find any ships in orbit, so we thought that we were wrong. But then the drop ships started return-to-base procedures. We shot a couple as they started to go back up, but then the rest of them disappeared. No one could get visual confirmation, no one could get instrumental confirmation. They were there one second and then they were gone. We stayed around in upper atmosphere and near space clogging up the transmission waves for twelve hours trying to figure out what went wrong. I still have engineers triple-checking everything; but if it was _glamour-_ ”

“If you made a little pocket in a completely non-ferrous hull of a ship,” Generalleutnant Demyanev said slowly, like he was scared of his own words. “And you spaced them out evenly, and put your best illusionists in them, and had them interlock their glamours- it could work. I think it _did_ work, or something like it.”

  “I want to know why we haven’t heard about any of this until now,” the Jagdsprinz said, with an angry look to General Beilschmidt. “I want to know _where_ these people came from, and _where_ these ships are being made, and _where_ the _Distawydwr_ are being trained, and _who_ is financing and running all this, _and-_ ”

At this, the entire assembly got an angry look.

 “- _why_ the **_disgraced Tylwyth_** are working with _humans._ ”

Disgraced Tylwyth- yes, _that_ was what _Lygriwr_ meant. The closest translation was _‘those who are corrupting’_ , or maybe _‘those who are corrupted’_ \- they were outcasts, societal pariahs who carried the stigma of taboo with them always.

The _Lygriwr,_ nowadays, meant the Tylwyth exiled from the Silent Hills in the wake of the Hunt’s Purge, after the continued human trafficking revelation a couple of centuries ago. Anyone involved in the actual stealing and selling had been executed- but these were the buyers and the ones who had taken the opportunity to leave Honalee and the Hills in protest of humanity’s rising status in both, and their descendants.

They had been exiled to Aphwhion, which sat right between Toria and Oqiosheia- the two planets that had been the first to fall into the dead zone on their respective Arms.

* * *

It had been a while since the last emergency meeting of the United Nations. In fact, Iran thought that it was very likely that the youngest Nations- the Channel Countries, Asian Russia, the Caribbean, those sorts- hadn’t ever even been to one.

Yes, they hadn’t, because the Italian Civil War had been before their time, and the partitioning of Russia and the handover to Ukraine had happened without violence after the initial killings, so one wasn’t called. After Russia, there hadn’t been a crisis large enough to call an emergency meeting. No one had started any shooting wars, not wanting to alienate the Hunt or Venice, which would jeopardize themselves on one hand and their space colonies and settlers on the other; and while the economy had continued to cycle through rise and fall on various levels, the UN hadn’t handled the last big global depression with emergency meetings.

So it was a source of some amusement to her to sit and watch the youngest Nations come in, wide-eyed and more scared-looking than their elders, clearly wondering if there were special procedures they hadn’t been informed of and worrying about what to expect.

The Nations still met separately from the ambassadors in the UN, though they didn’t do the same in their younger counterpart in space, the CSC. There had been some move to integrate the two meetings a while ago, ostensibly in the interests of Cuba, Venice, and China, but really in interests of the Genists. The three Nations had shown up personally and struck it down outside of normal session times, going through the President’s office and the Office of Nations’ Affairs to get it dismissed. They were still the only Earth Nations in charge of their own governments, and they had also all been original members of the League of Nations, and then the United Nations after it. They knew very well how important it was to Nations to have that separate meeting time, even if things had gotten better for Nations and a lot of countries gave them some oversight authority and putting them under orders was officially illegal, subject to prosecution by international law.

Anyway, it was tradition.

She could have guessed which Nations had large colony populations by how much worry they were showing, or how obvious it was that they were hiding that they were worried. The German Lands was looking quite perturbed, as were Turkey and Greece and Mexico. Canada probably would have appeared more upset, but he was busy trying to keep America quiet.

Iran had not been looking forward to America being here. Everyone had known he’d be enraged at losing Qecarro to the dead zone and take it all very personally, but they’d been somewhat-secretly hoping that maybe his government would keep him in DC to talk about strategy or something.

No such luck.

“Hello, Forouzandeh.”

 Oh, this was a nice surprise, and she looked up with a smile on her face.

“Hello, Yao,” she greeted him. “You aren’t going to the general meeting?”

“My ambassador has all the information she needs,” he told her, violating seating procedure to sit next to her. Indonesia could find another seat; and Iran didn’t miss how taking that spot made a power bloc. It would be India, then him, then her- the three oldest Nations. “I trust her to handle other humans, but Nations should have Nations. See-”

He inclined his head towards the other side of the room, and Iran saw that Cuba and Venice were in attendance today, as well- Cuba talking with Mexico, Venice in a little knot with South Italy and Rome and Martinach.

The room got settled not too much later, and not for the first time, the sight left Iran wondering what the makeup of the room would look like in the future. She’d watched the UN grow in fits and spirts as Nations gained sovereignty or were born, and for the last couple hundred years, she’d been watching it very slowly contract.

It hadn’t been a totally linear progression, of course- Italy had split in three; and China had shed Tibet, Hong Kong, and Macau in the changeover to giving control of the state to Yao, on the Genist grounds that there could only be _one_ Nation in a state unless agreed otherwise; and Taiwan had finally joined, even though she and Yao were still fighting over who was _more_ officially China than the other. By now, the argument almost seemed to be more of one of habit than serious contestation.

But overall there had been more falling together- Korea, the United Republic of the German Lands, the Channel Countries, the Balto-Slavonic Democratic Republic, Ukraine, Scandinavia, and most lately the Caribbean and Guayandes, the latter of which now crowned Brazil in an arc on the border with old French Guiana through to the old edge of Peru- than falling apart. The latest bets on who would consolidate next were the many tiny scattered Pacific islands, the Balkans, North and Central America, and the Maghreb or North Africa. There was a lot of contention about everything except the Pacific islands- the Balkans had gotten better but still didn’t get along quite _that_ well; no one could tell for sure if would be the Maghreb or North Africa that would come together, or if it would be two separate entities and North Africa would disinherit, so to speak, the Maghreb, like what had happened with Cuba and the Caribbean; and while the small states at the southernmost part of Central America were definitely on the way out as they started to bleed into Mexico, and the three NAFTA countries started to dissolve into each other in turn, it was not at all clear if Milagro, Alfred, or Matthew would be the last one standing, or if all three of them would pass to let a new Nation take their place.

Iran flicked on her lapel microphone.

“Time, everyone,” she said, to get the few who hadn’t taken their seats yet to do so. Running UN meetings had fallen to her, as the eldest Nation, after Germany had died and no one else had shown any signs of replicating his slightly-manic standards of order and control. The post had been ceded to her with barely any protest, helped along by the fact that, as of the signing of the Tripartite Treaty, she was semi-officially the Nation of choice when Earth or humanity as a whole needed representing.

“We need to get up there and-” America started to exclaim indignantly, evidently not listening to Canada about keeping his mouth shut any longer.

Yao stood up to get the room’s attention.

“You can talk when you actually know what’s going on,” he cut America off.

“We’ve lost Qecarro-”

“Plenty of people have lost their colonies, Alfred,” Yao cut him off again. “But _I_ was actually on Griolara, in Atarah, when it was attacked, so you _are_ going to listen to me.”

Yao’s summation of events as he’d experienced them- the initial mysterious attack, plowing through soldiers in the streets, joining up with the Hunt in the city, managing to get a few of the glamoured Tylwyth attackers- left the room quiet for a little bit, which was a rarity.    

“But how are we supposed to fight a space war?” Balto-Slavia eventually asked. “Like, I knew most of that stuff because the Jagdsprinz came and told me about it and Selah called me too and I’m _totally_ proud of her for keeping her head like she did since she’s got like, _no_ fighting training, but all we’ve got is trading ships. Are we just supposed to like, _wait_ for the soldiers to show up and shoot them out of the sky or once they’ve landed? Because that’s totally not a cool idea.”

“Couldn’t we unslave the gates?” Scandinavia asked, raising her hand.

There were cries of protest at that idea, and Iran had to agree. Once human scientists- HabéTech, again, no one had been surprised but a lot of people had been resentful- had figured out the structures needed to work with a ship’s engine to _‘tow’_ it to faster-than-lightspeed and keep it there, humanity had mostly given up on gates. The beacons that marked out the lightspeed lanes were keyed to human-built ships, to give them something the Ramman and the Pict couldn’t control. HabéTech had footed part of the bill for beacons but had known better than to be stingy on the keys for the engines and, as such, humanity had gone to the Ramman about the gates.

The reason for taking down a lot of the newly-built permanent gates and slaving the others to particular coordinates had been presented as a means to control the Pict, should their fleet ever find its way into the Honalenier side of space, and make it easier to shut everything down. The Ramman had agreed to it, though Iran had no illusions that they’d seen the move for what it really was. 

Changing over had been a bit of a slow process, because the Ramman kept saying things about math and changing the gates distorting something-or-other about space-time, but in the end every planet that wasn’t located on one of the ten lightspeed lanes had a slaved gate that went only to the system of the nearest planet on one of those lanes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Greece told her off. “If we have the Ramman unslave the gates, then whoever has taken over the planets in the dead zone can use them to go _anywhere-_ they’ll be behind our lines before we’ve realized it.”

“We only have to unslave _ours-_ ”

“And what happens when they take one of the planets we currently have, and find an unslaved gate?” India asked. “The same thing. We can’t do a thing about unslaved gates, but we can block the slaved ones with our own ships and keep a patrol on lightspeed lanes. If they’re idiots enough to try send an army through space from Ubrilles or Iohines to the Greylea-Griolara system on a burst drive- well, that’s three months, and unless they’ve got something _huge_ tucked away, the size of a colony ship, nothing can sneak up on us. There are only ten lanes-”

“Eleven,” Martinach and Venice corrected, accidentally in chorus.

Iran had to bang her hand on the table to restore order and get everyone to stop talking at once.

_“What?”_ she asked for the whole room.

“My brother made it,” Martinach said. “Docury. Well, he was with the crew of the ship that did it. He heard about what was going on and was going to Griolara, but you can only go as far as Eustra before running into the dead zone. So the people on Eustra helped the crew improvise a beacon, stuck it on their schooner, and let the beacon on Eustra fling them out as far towards Zeshan as it could. They dropped the one they were carrying once they couldn’t go any further, activated it, and it _just_ got them to Zeshan. They’re ordering a real beacon from HabéTech to replace it, so people can use it without cutting things so close next time.”

“It was one of _my_ schooners,” Venice added, clearly proud of the fact.

“That _has_ to be illegal somehow,” Romania said. “Just- _making_ a new lightspeed path.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Cuba shrugged. “They happen. But if you want to propose some legislation…”

“That’s not what we’re here for,” Iran told them. “If you want to draft policy, do it on your own time and submit it properly.”

“That’s cool but like, _totally_ doesn’t answer how we’re supposed to fight a space war,” Balto-Slavia said, picking up the beginning of the conversation again. “Nobody’s made space battleships? Like, it’s nice that they _didn’t,_ I guess, because then this might have happened a whole lot sooner, but it’s _totally_ not cool now when we _need_ some and we don’t even have any actual schematics or plans or prototy-”

Venice coughed discreetly.

“You did _not,_ Feliciano!”

South Italy didn’t look any happier about this development than Balto-Slavia did.

“Of _course_ she fucking did, Feliks,” he said. “What were you _expecting?_ ”

 “There’s a _treaty-_ ” Turkey started to say, indignantly.

“ _‘Article IV,’_ ” Venice began to quote. “ _‘State Parties to the Treaty undertake not to place in orbit around the Earth any objects carrying nuclear weapons or any other kinds of weapons of mass destruction, install such weapons on celestial bodies, or station weapons in outer space in any other manner.’_ There aren’t any nuclear weapons and we haven’t made any weapons of mass destruction.”

“ _‘The Moon and other celestial bodies shall be used by all State Parties to the Treaty exclusively for peaceful purposes,’_ ” Turkey continued the treaty article, accusingly. “ _‘The establishment of military bases, installations and fortifications, the testing of any type of weapons and the conduct of military manoeuvers on celestial bodies shall be forbidden.’_ You’re not _allowed_ to have a weaponized space fleet, Venice!”

“We _don’t,_ ” she insisted. “We only have detailed plans and some tested examples-”

“You can’t _test-_ ”

“It says you’re not allowed to do it _‘on celestial bodies’_ , and we _didn’t_ ,” Venice said. “We tested them in dead zone space, out past Zeshan, on our own scrap. If _anyone’s_ in violation of the treaty, it’s Martinach-Liechtenstein and the Hunt! We only started making plans because of _their_ blackjets.”

“Their what?” Brazil asked.

“I was wondering,” China said. “Where they pulled an air force out from. You shipped it over from Uaclleon with the fleet, didn’t you?”

Most of the room was looking at Martinach, who leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“It says _‘State Parties to the Treaty’_ ,” she said. “Martinach never signed that treaty, _or_ Liechtenstein, and _certainly_ not the Hunt. We haven’t broken any laws, and the blackjets aren’t for military purposes. They’re for the Hunt, which is policing.”

“ _Paramilitary_ policing,” Venice insisted. “You attacked those drop ships.”

“They were engaged in warlike actions,” Martinach said. “That’s in violation of the Tripartite Treaty, plus whatever parent state they inherited the Outer Space Treaty from. If you want to argue legal details, then you can talk to Liesl, or Marschall Braginski, or go the Jagdsprinz. But in the meantime that treaty is blocking almost all of you from fielding an army in space. _Elti_ wanted me to bring it up if it didn’t come up by itself, because right now your choices are leaving the defense of the unconquered colonies and Earth to the Hunt- which is _not_ going to work, I’m to tell you, they don’t have enough people or resources- or changing the Outer Space Treaty to allow for some degree of militarization.”

“And where do we stop once we’ve weaponized space?” Canada asked. “Once you’ve started militarization, it’s hard to stop.”

“Marschall Braginski suggested ship-to-ship weapons only,” she said. “But you’re free to make your own decisions about it.”

“Planet-to-space weapons too, I’d think,” Portugal said.

Martinach shook her head.

“I asked about that, Marschall Bragniski said it would be encouraging people to create space-to-planet weapons, even if they were illegal. Better to keep things they’ll have to counter legal on both sides.”

“I’m seconding what Martinach says,” the German Lands announced.

The rest of the meeting went from there into a debate about the exact implications of changes to the treaty, the logistics of getting an army to space, what tactics and training would look like for that _anyway,_ and all in all, Iran felt like everyone was taking it rather well.

An entirely new sort of warfare had just debuted, and people had clearly learned from history- unlike the advent of mechanized, industrial land warfare, things were being discussed and theorized and thought out to logical conclusions.

It was one of the comforts of being the eldest Nation, alive to hear accounts of the actual first Nations from others of their kind for whom those first few were, civilization-wise, only one degree of separation away, rather like their grandparents- you got proof that humanity really _was_ capable of absorbing lessons and changing for the better.

* * *

“So remember when you were first seconded to my department, way back when I was only in charge of Martinach, and I promised I wasn’t going to turn you into a super-spy-assassin?” General Beilschmidt asked. “I was wrong. Make a quick pack, you’re going to Nienrade.”

“With _utmost_ pleasure, _sir,_ ” Witchbreaker Leutnantkommandant Emma Miccichelo replied, stuffed her secondary and spare uniforms into a bag, grabbed her toiletries, her accessories, an assortment of non-uniform clothes, and was out the door with him fifteen minutes later.

“What sort of _‘super-spy-assassin’_ are we talking about, General?” she asked as they got mounted up. “Batman, James Bond, or Black Widow?”

“Wha- oh,” he said, changing his word halfway through as remembered old cultural references. “What’s the difference?”

“Well, Batman’s the most _‘super’_ option,” Emma explained. “Trained to the peak of human fighting and mental perfection in the name of investigating and eliminating crime, to the point where people consider it supernatural. James Bond is the _‘spy’_ option, obviously, with a lot of action and licensed killing going on; and Black Widow is the most _‘assassin’_ option, with special focus on exploiting sexuality and gendered conceptions. So who am I going to be more like? Because if you’re asking me to go have sex with people to steal their secrets and then kill them as part of my job description, I’m going to say no _and_ tell your grandparents on you. _All three of them._ ”

“I doubt the Jagdsprinz would order an assassination,” General Beilschmidt said. “If she wanted someone dead, she’d kill them herself so long as it was in the parameters of her duty. She wouldn’t send someone else to do it if she could- and if she couldn’t, she _definitely_ wouldn’t be having anyone using sex as the way to get it done. She’d give you a gun and tell you to go in shooting, she wants them dead with _prejudice_ and people had better know it was the Hunt. So James Bond, probably, but I really don’t know. I’m not going to be the one teaching you. You’re going to get to spend some more quality time with Marschall Braginski.”

“That does sound like James Bond,” she said. “This will be fun.”

 “And that’s why I asked for you.”

Uxcilia wasn’t a very impressive planet, not the way Uaclleon was with its massive seas and pervasive rainforests, temperate and tropical, broken only by young, tall, craggy mountain ranges, but it was still quite nice. Uxcilia was flatter than Uaclleon, with lots of praries and some rolling hills and patches of wide open forests, clear of ground cover underneath the canopy, bright and airy. It was most famous for three spots- the hundreds of square kilometers of brightly-colored wildflowers that bloomed in spring and summer on the prairies; the Green Mountains, the Scottish Highlands-like highest area on the planet, a large patch of brilliantly green, wet, and generally cool and misty dramatic landscape; and the Hunt’s training facility at Nienrade.

Nienrade was set at the foot of the Green Mountains, for easy access to the prairies to work with the horses, and the rougher terrain of the mountains for differentiated combat and magical training. General Klein, who Emma had known peripherally from when she’d been stationed in Martinach and overseeing training there, when the Hunt had been much smaller, lived out here now; and she was the one who met them at the customary location for the World Gate connection.

There were two men with her- the Kommandant of 32nd Husar and the Kommandant of 17th Dragoner, by their uniforms.

“Your team,” General Beilschmidt told her. “Rosario Allard Costa, 32nd Husar, Domdruc Filfaraskind, 17th Dragoner- Emma Micchichelo, Witchbreaker, seconded on numerous occasions to Intelligence.”

It was always _‘Intelligence and Internal Affairs’_ with outsiders, but within the higher and older Hunt command ranks, it was generally done to drop the pretense and just say _‘Intelligence’_.  Whether or not they were keeping an eye on non-Hunt organizations or the Jäger themselves was irrelevant- it was all spying to screen for violations of duty, contract, and the law.

“I’ve heard of you,” Domdruc said, offering his hand to shake with a large smile. “The only human Witchbreaker, who broke into the Workshop.”

“Was your mother especially patriotic or something?” Emma asked. “The only thing more nationalistic than a huldrene named _‘Domdruc’_ is a Frenchman named _‘François’_ ; and France doesn’t exist any longer.”

“That’s an _old_ joke,” he told her. “I haven’t heard _that_ one in _decades._ ”

Rosario stepped up to shake her hand next.

“We’re related somehow, right?” she asked. “You’re-”

“One of Gilberto’s sons,” he finished for her. “Well, my great-grandfather is brother to _your_ great-grandfather, so we’re… third cousins?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s third cousins,” Emma said.

“There are too many of you, is what there are,” General Klein said. “Too many shared surnames. Marschall Braginski will be here for dinner at your quarters, so you have three hours to get settled, make dinner, and start talking to each other.”

    Newly-accepted Jäger went to Nienrade for their combat training, after having done internship work at a posting or garrison and undergoing the proper vetting. They had their own barracks, separate from the small two-person shared sets of rooms that the officers, coming for promotion training, got. Emma had been in one of those with another Intelligence Jäger for two weeks when they were both being promoted to Leutnantkommandant, but now she was somewhere entirely different with Rosario and Domdruc.

It was a nice little house, tucked up in a hollow in the mountainous hill, with a combined living/dining room and a small kitchen on the first floor, and four bedrooms with just enough room for a single-person bed, a beside shelf, and a set of drawers on the second, with a bathroom to share between them. One of the bedrooms was locked, since they weren’t going to be using it, but they were able to get into the corners of everywhere else.

Rosario was the one who realized what the house must have usually been for.

“Zauberen training, or Witchbreakers,” he told them, coming up from the basement. “They’ve set a workshop up down there.”

“One of you does magic?” Emma asked.

Rosario and Domdruc looked at each other.

“Nothing beyond basic doctoring,” Domdruc said. “Getting rid of a head cold or getting a small wound to heal faster than normal, maybe some first aid sort of things if someone breaks a bone or hits their head. But I’m not an actual _doctor._ I don’t even qualify as an emergency substitute. It’s just that my mother was a doctor so I learned a little.”

“My father was half _Seelenkind_ and my mother is Buyanov fey,” Rosario said. “If you want me to mildly electrocute someone or maybe make a little quick ice or light a fuse or an oil lamp or tinder or something, I can do that. But it’s not enough magic to get me through any sorcerer training. I got the basic theory and learned some of my affinities, and if I’m really concentrating or stressed, I can make a bit of folk magic work. I made some luck charms once, evil eye anti-curse protection sort of stuff. They saved me a little trouble when I was out of uniform on leave in Ordon Khot and some pickpocket thought she could get away with my money and my pocketknife with the help of a little magical misdirection.”

He smiled a little.

“It was the look on her face when she came up with my little two-way and I was halfway through getting _her_ in a hold that really sold it. Haven’t made anything so useful since then, though.”    

“You keep your two-way in your _pocket?_ ” Emma asked. The Hunt’s standard communication device was small, meant for attaching on the inside of the wrist onto a glove or gauntlet or strapped on when in uniform, and worn on a chain around the neck for safekeeping when out of uniform.

“I keep the earbud in,” Rosario said. “And I tie the chain on my belt with a cow hitch. Unless they break the chain or steal my pants, I’m not going to lose it.”

There was a mild argument over what to do for dinner, since Marschall Braginski was coming over, and eventually Rosario and Domdruc defaulted to Emma, since she knew him the best. They ended up using a lot of potatoes and fruit.

Marschall Braginski seemed pleased to see her again, and that was nice. It had been about three centuries since their time together on Theiostea, and they’d only seen each other for shorter periods since then.

“You have a training period of ten days,” Marschall Braginski told them over dinner. “After which you will be deployed into the dead zone to gather information. The Hunt and the armies and navies that will be forming need to know who and where the people behind these attacks are. Specifically, the three of you are to discover why the Tylwyth on Aphwhion have decided to work with humans, and the details behind their _Distawydwr_.”

“They have _Distawydwr_?” Domdruc asked, horrified.

Marschall Braginski nodded, and had to explain the term for Rosario and Emma.

“The three of you were chosen quite deliberately,” he continued. “We- General Beilschmidt and Marschall Lord Hiruz and the Jagdsprinz and I, with consultation from Leutnant ap Gwynn- do not want to send anyone with powerful magic. It could be obvious, and using magic would give you away. You are meant to be human, for this.”

“Marschall _Razanás_ ,” Domdruc said. “I’m kodrene. I have a tail. I don’t think I was a good choice for this.”

“You were a _Drakräder_ before you came to the Hunt,” Marschall Braginski said. “That is the closest we have to the sneakers who worked for the humans trapped in the Hills, killing slavers who used many of the same tactics. You learned some things from Kundegith and Viskram, yes? And Rosaidis, and their other associates?”

“A little bit,” he admitted. “But I’m still-”

“Your tail can be hidden with some effort, and your skills are required,” Marschall Braginski told him. “The skills of all three of you are required.”

He looked at Rosario, and then Emma, in turn.

“Kommandant Allard, you have served on most of the planets in Further Space, unlikeKommandant Filfaraskind or Leutnantkommandant Miccichelo. You must teach them the territory and guide them through it. Leutnantkommandant Miccichelo, you are the only non-sorcerer Witchbreaker. Your job during this training session is to pass on basics to your team, as they will pass on the basics of theirs.”

“That’s what we’re doing here for ten days?” Emma asked. “Teaching each other?”

“Oh no,” Marschall Braginski said cheerfully. “That is only part of your time, potentially the minority. The rest of it, I will spend teaching you what I can about the nasty parts of spying.”

In the next ten days, Emma got a very good idea of where Marschall Braginski’s eternal pessimism during their captivity by the Ramman had come from.

She did not call what Marschall Braginski did ‘torture’, because while some of it definitely was torture tactics- mostly catching them off-guard and grilling them on the details of their simple cover stories, storming the house the night after their first full day when they’d been introduced to their covers and not letting them sleep, hunting them in the mountains after abandoning them with nothing but the civilian clothes they were wearing, and dropping them in Nienrade and the associated town to randomly attack them when they couldn’t hold their covers or were caught as they tried to implement what the Marschall had called ‘urban survival skills’, which as far as Emma could tell meant ‘stealing, breaking and entering, and minor assault’- she had lived every day with the certain knowledge that Nations didn’t really hurt people, especially their own people, unless it was a war situation or they’d been attacked. They might threaten- and a lot of them did, it was a common tactic- but that was in the hopes that the other person would back down when faced with the posturing. Against humans, it almost always worked.

Marschall Braginski knew very well that was how she thought, and furthermore knew exactly the promises he’d made to her and Árpád and Terenzia, implicit and explicit, about their protection and his duty to them during the time they were prisoners of the Ramman.

So she was the one he tried to drown.

That- the waterboarding- was basically just torture, and Emma could acknowledge that without actually letting herself categorize it as such.

“If you have gotten to the point where they are trying to torture information out of you then you have failed,” Marschall Braginski told them. He’d attacked them in public and dragged them off somewhere, into this room, and tied Rosario and Domdruc up. They were meant to watch this, the Marschall’s fist tangled in her hair and his other arm binding both of hers as he dragged her to the tub, so they knew what it felt like. “Utterly and completely. Your only objective is to survive. You have no confidential information on our movements and strategy against them. The questions that we want you to get answers for are obvious, and any decent counterintelligence operative should know that people will be asking them. You have only two things of value- your life, and the knowledge of whatever information you have managed to pass back to us.”

They had reached the tub and Marschall Braginski forced her to her knees beside it.

“The only answer to any question about what the Hunt and their allies know is ‘nothing’,” he said, and forced her under.  

He established a pattern, quickly- just enough time under the water for her to desperately need air, let her surface, yell at her to tell him what she knew, what the Hunt knew, and then push her back under.

“The Leutnantkommandant here,” Marschall Braginski said to them after some time of the dunk-yell-repeat routine, long enough that Emma was going hazy on everything but being grateful that she could get more air than usual while he talked. “Trusts me. She has lived through captivity conditions- very forgiving, but still captivity conditions- before. I was her protector then, because anyone who has not undergone torture at the hands of captors before trusts too easily. They cannot maintain the self-discipline necessary to stay in the proper mindset of paranoia. None of you have ever done spy work in the field before. It does not matter how many times I tell you not to trust anyone- you still will. This is a mistake only others can train you out of.”

It was back under the water for Emma, and she ended up breathing a lot of it in, this time. She thought she surfaced a few more times, but she couldn’t quite remember properly.

“The answer to the question ‘what do they know’ is always ‘nothing’,” Marschall Braginski said again. “No matter if it costs you your life, or the lives of your team members.” 

This time he kept her under the water until she passed out.

She woke up in her bed in the little house in the mountains with her lungs clear but a little sore and her throat slightly raw, in the early dark hours of the morning. Marschall Braginski was in the room with her, on a chair he’d brought from downstairs and put next to the bed, monitoring her just in case something had been missed by the earlier medical examination and treatment she must have undergone. She didn’t have to move or even open her eyes to know- she’d grown up knowing her great-grandfather, and knew how to recognize her connection with her Nations.

A reach through that bond to give him a little prod of not mad not scared not blaming you forgiven love you still friends was enough to stop any awkward conversation that may have happened. Emma heard his chair creak under him as he leaned forward enough to place one of his large hands on her forehead.

“Are you certain you are all right?” he asked quietly.

“Well,” Emma croaked, and after a moment coughed a little. “I only just tried talking, but that will clear itself up. I’m fine, Marschall. You were careful with me.”

She felt his little spike of bitter distrust, tinged with self-loathing, distantly; and reached up to squeeze his fingers.

“You were,” she insisted. “Really, Marschall- Ivan. I’m one of your people, and you didn’t hurt me.”

He sighed.

“I’d invite you to get in here with me to cuddle and feel better,” Emma said. “But someone would probably take it the wrong way. Anyway, you get to be all tough-guy-no-feelings-scary-Soviet for us silly little children who want to go play spy, and I won’t spoil your fun- I’m having fun, that would be rude.”

That was enough to get a brief, self-depreciating chuckle from him, at least.

“So- how prepared are we now? We’ve used up almost a whole week already and we’ve barely started teaching our stuff to each other.”

“You will not be prepared enough at the end of these ten days to be responsibly sent on your mission,” Marschall Braginski told her quietly. “None of you will be. It will not be because of a lack of dedication on your part or failure of teaching on mine or ours; but because the Hunt has never had behind-enemy-lines operators before now and so must throw together the best we can in the shortest period of time. The three of you are the ones we trust the most to succeed without outside support, and to not get yourselves killed and perhaps even back home if things go badly.”

The next day, they started teaching each other. Emma’s part in this was the easiest, since she was contributing what she could of her Witchbreaker training- Rosario and Domdruc already had the basic grounding in magic, and really just needed to be taught some of her strategies and tricks, particularly the ones she’d worked out to use where a sorcerer would draw on their magic. She spent not quite an entire day on it, and she ended her part of the official teaching time a couple of hours after noon, with plenty of time for the three of them to be slow about dinner and take a break to recover from Marschall Braginski’s attention- he’d returned to Griolara after Emma had fallen back asleep the night before, having taken all the time he realistically could away from the still mostly-undefended front lines.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at High Command the same way again,” Rosario said after some time of the three of them simply collapsing in the couches and chairs on the first floor and silently agreeing to do nothing for a little while.

“Why?” Emma asked.

Rosario pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her in astonishment.

“Marschall Braginski is vicious,” he said, like he was a little worried Emma hadn’t noticed. “I mean- it’s one thing to see the old footage of the Purges and General and Untermarschall Agresta taking apart the Camorra; or hear about the Jagdsprinz’s feud with Venice and the General and know she went through Honalee as a completely ignorant human to fight the demon; or that Marschall Lord Hiruz still gets called ‘Knight-Protector of the Jägerskov’ officially because he spent centuries living with the demon around; and who even knows what General Beilschmidt gets up to with Intelligence- and I know we’re related to a lot of them, Emma-”

There was only slightest of pauses before her name, and Emma was pretty happy with that. She had the senior rank in this little group, and was officially in charge of the field operation, but they’d had centuries of living in a clear rank structure. It did no good to refer to each other by military ranks when they weren’t supposed to be military at all, in their covers.

“-but Marschall Braginski waterboarded you for like, two hours, yesterday. And he’d had to have gotten permission for that, from the Jagdsprinz since she’s in charge of him and General Beilschmidt because he’s your highest direct commanding officer and Marschall Lord Hiruz because he’s mine and Domdruc’s, and probably Untermarschall Agresta and General Agresta and the Witchbreaker Generalleutnant too. That’s seven people in High Command agreeing that you should be tortured. He almost killed you.”

“I understand the tests he ran with the cover stories,” Domdruc said after a moment. “And the two days of ‘urban survival skills’. If we have to go on the run, we will need those, and people will be maybe catching us slipping like that. Honalenier might have a reputation for being quick to start and ruthless when it comes to violence, but it’s always necessary violence. I don’t think the waterboarding was.”

“You inflict permanent damage on other men of your own kind to have sex,” Rosario said skeptically.

“You don’t have to be rude about it,” Domdruc told him. “It’s an essential part of our mating cycles- just because humans stay fertile all the time doesn’t mean we have to be party to your biological flaws.”  

“Neither of you know Nations like I do,” Emma interrupted, bringing the conversation back to the topic. “You both grew up in Honalee- don’t look at me like that, Rosario, you grew up in Martinach, with the Hunt, that’s Honalee. I grew up in Rome, and yeah, it was the Republic Protectorate by that time and there was a Hunt garrison there to keep the rest of Italy in line, but it was human. There wasn’t this- and don’t start getting upset or something- cult about Kings and Nations that Honalee and Martinach-Liechtenstein had, and just about everywhere today has. Nations still didn’t matter all that much to the majority of the world, back then. And I grew up around my great-grandfather, and sometimes South Italy and Sicily, and less often Spain and Balto-Slavia and Malta. And when it wasn’t them it was Nonna Gianna. Nations are people, with a lot of responsibilities and a lot of care for their people, and they take it really seriously. I’m one of Marschall Braginski’s people now, and he’s one of my Nations, and he’ll never be under orders again so as long as I don’t hurt him he wouldn’t do a thing to really hurt me.”

Rosario and Domdruc’s silence was unconvinced.

“He said he picked me because I trusted too much,” she said. “But I think he was misdirecting us about that. Bisnonno- my great-grandfather-”

Emma wasn’t entirely certain how to approach the next part of her point.

“Nazario and all the rest of us grew up on stories,” she told them. “Nazario and I the most, because we both cared about Honalee and Nations and magic and all that more than our siblings. So Bisnonno and Nonna told us the family stories, the ones that the Nations told their human children and niblings to explain about what being a Nation was like. There were a lot of different ones, but the important thing is that the horror stories- the ones they got glassy-eyed and stiff telling, the ones that they had to stop in the middle of- were about hurting their own people. Unless the human has really, really messed up- it kills them a little inside to do it, and even if they want the human dead, they can still feel it. Marschall Braginski knew exactly how much he was hurting me, and he wouldn’t have let it go on if I was really going to die, or if I started really panicking. He picked me because I trust him, since I know what it cost him to do it.”

The other two dropped the topic after that, perhaps still unconvinced, but Emma had at least been able to make her point. 

Rosario’s information, starting the next day, was necessary but not that interesting. They didn’t know which planets they’d be going to yet so he was giving them basics on every one he knew something about in the dead zone, and Emma was a little wary of getting too familiar with the information, anyway. Wherever they ended up going, they weren’t going to try to pass themselves off as anything other than foreigners, so having too much information could make them look suspicious.

To her mind, the most interesting part of the rather rushed mutual information exchange was Domdruc’s Drakräder training.

The Drakräder had been the Jägerskov’s border guards, originally it’s military in the years before the Hunt, meant specifically to protect against the Tylwyth and the Distawydwr. They had stayed functional through the Erlkönig’s Hunt, and then through the demon’s occupation, and finally had slowly fallen into the modern Hunt, Drakräder joining the Dragoner regiments or quietly ceding their duties to Teufelmördor’s Hunt and going back home to full-time craft or business.

She and Rosario were no more expected to learn how to be Drakräder than Domdruc and Rosario were expected to become Witchbreakers, or Emma and Domdruc experts on planets they’d never served on. But as with the few planetary facts and non-magic-reliant Witchbreaker tricks, they were to learn a couple of basic Drakräder tactics.

Of course, they gave Domdruc the opportunity to show off, too.

Drakräder carried three knives- a regular belt knife with about a seven-inch blade, which the Jäger officer’s knives had been based on; a boot knife with eleven inches of steel; and a sword-like two-foot knife. They were named for these knives, and their speed and skill with them.

“Three knives, special long gloves for both hands, gorget,” he told them, out on the side of the mountain with a trainee Tylwyth Jäger he’d procured from Nienrade. “It’s that for protection and then a heavy buff coat, and the boots are specially-made so the second knife stays hidden, and are thicker than normal too.”

The Drakräder armor was surprisingly similar to the Jäger uniform, and if Domdruc got the buff coat and boots dyed black and attached his insignia and took off the odd belt with the multitude of attached wooden capsules, he could make a passable impersonation of himself in proper uniform.

“Tylwyth use short swords, so the third knife can be used for fighting that,” he told them. “But the idea is to get within their reach and start a grappling fight. It’s a lot more difficult for Tylwyth to glamour you into thinking they’ve slipped out of your grip than out of your sight, and if you can get iron or steel in or on them, they can’t make any glamours at all.”

Domdruc let them take a look at his gloves before his demonstration on how Drakräder fought. They were elbow-length, made to be worn under the long sleeves of the buff coat. There were steel plates sewn onto the leather from wrist to elbow, and an iron plate across the back of the hand, with some roughing and thin padding on the palm. The fingers only went up just over the middle joint and had some more mild padding there, and came with attached, wide iron rings on the first part of the finger. The knuckle padding he explained wordlessly, slipping both hands momentarily into special pockets in the buff coat and coming up with a set of iron knuckledusters on both hands.

“The humans and fey who worked on the edge of the Jägerskov and in the Hills against the Tylwyth slavers used the boot knife and made iron rings as a knockoff version of the glove finger plates,” he told them, raising his hands and arms into a guard position. “Since you could drop the rings in your pocket if you had to hide them. I’m going to show you how the gloves and the dusters are used but I’m not going to try to teach you, because if you do it wrong you’ll break your hands and slice up your arms.”   

Emma had no idea how Domdruc had found the time to locate a trainee Tylwyth Jäger- there had never been that many Tylwyth in this Hunt, but that did mean it was always news in Nienrade when one came through. Whatever training the Tylwyth might have needed to become a Jäger, though, she was proficient in her native bronze short sword.

The fight between him and her wasn’t very long, and it wasn’t even because it was meant as a demonstration fight and so everything wasn’t quite as serious as it could have been.

The Tylwyth woman went for Domdruc after he’d put his knuckledusters back, and he had his third, sword-like knife out in time to parry her strike at him. He raised his free arm and pressed it against the unsharpened spine of the knife so he could throw his entire weight behind it. The woman had to quickly disengage and back up to keep from being bowled over or having the entire length of the blade pressed into her body, and Domdruc kept advancing on her, trying to get behind her sword. She managed to block him a couple of times, but between the long knife and his ability to use the steel plates sewn into the forearms of his gloves and the heavy leather of his buff coat as a sort of weak shield when speed and footwork just wasn’t enough, he managed to do it, dropping his long knife to have both hands free.

In most cases, dropping your weapon was a massive tactical error, since your opponent could just pick it up and use it against you, but it was little different when it was iron or steel against a Tylwyth who was trying to gain the upper hand through glamor and not skill at arms. And if the Tylwyth did get out of a grapple and decide to give up the advantage of magic for the slightly longer reach of the Drakräder’s long knife- well, presumably the Drakräder had a number of strategies for that. The obvious one to Emma was going to animal form and using teeth, claws, and speed to close back to grappling distance.

Domdruc’s Tylwyth trainee panicked a little now that he was behind her fighting distance, and sacrificed her sword to try to keep him from grabbing her. She managed to kick him away- or probably Domdruc let her, Emma decided, when the Tylwyth trainee retrieved her sword only to find Domdruc bearing down on her with his other two knives, shorter belt knife held off-hand to the longer boot knife, reminiscent of a fencer using a rapier with a dagger in the off-hand to use to block their opponent’s blade.

That was exactly how Domdruc used his knives, once again letting the glove plates and buff coat act as a combination of armor and shield, catching blows aimed at his unprotected head with either a knife or a plated forearm, angling to get back into grappling range. The Jäger trainee was more desperate to keep him away this time, now that she’d seen how easily he’d gotten there the first time, but it didn’t help her any. He got her disarmed, kicked the bronze sword away, and dropped his knives again to go at her with his hands.

He didn’t put the knuckledusters back on, because he wasn’t trying to kill her, but Emma imagined that it would be a tricky move, and testament to the skill of any Drakräder who pulled it off. Domdruc went for pinning moves rather than trying to beat on the trainee, which was definitely the appropriate course of action, but probably not the usual one.

The demonstration fight ended when the trainee abruptly went utterly still under Domdruc. He had to let her up to show his team mates what he’d done.

The odd wooden capsules Emma had seen on his belt earlier contained thin iron needles, weakened a few millimeters from the base of the small wooden handle you held it by. Domdruc pinched the needle between his fingers and demonstrated for them how a little bend or twist would break the needle. They were meant to be broken off inside a Tylwyth’s body, hard to remove without leaving a fight to cut yourself open further and dig it out. If ignored, or overlooked, the wound would heal over and trap the iron needle inside the body- robbing the Tylwyth of ability to do glamours.

They were nasty little weapons, and the trainee looked sick at the sight of them.

“Huldrene are rightly scared of _Distawydwr_ , Kommandant,” she told him when he made a comment about it. “But Tylwyth are scared of _Drakräder_. Maybe not as much as huldrene, since _Drakräder_ have never done anything like the _Distawydwr_ did, but-”

She glanced down at his belt.

“All a _Distawydwr_ will do is kill you, sir. Drakräder will beat you to a bloody pulp and steal your magic in the bargain.”  

* * *

Nico had been rushed off to the front lines with Demyanev, where they were trying to organize the Hunt’s sorcerers and the Witchbreakers into something that could counteract another Tylwyth landing force, and back here in Martigny, Luisa had the Workshop going all hours of the day and night trying to come up with new equipment to counteract glamours planet-side _and_ space-side. Possibly one or all three of them were also spending time in the shipyards on Uaclleon, assisting with the rumored development of real _naval_ space ships, meant to stop an invasion force before they ever got planet-side.

But no one had actually told Lana anything, so she had to make conjectures about it all from what she could get her Hunt contacts to tell her and the fact that the repair of the Greylea Generalleutnant’s AI had been outsourced to _her._

Lana had no idea who thought that had been a good idea- _she_ didn’t know a thing about AIs, and while she would have been more than happy to fix Peter up magically now that his interface had been put back together, she didn’t know _how._

A little conniving with Liesl got her into Nia’s apartments in the Jagdshall. She turned up to find the Jagdsprinz packing.

“You’re going somewhere?” she asked.

“Liesl and Isolde can hold Martinach-Liechtenstein together just fine on their own,” Nia told her, hunting around in drawers and the closet. “I’m going to Griolara, to fix this damn _war._ What do you _want,_ Lana?”

“I want to know why you can’t spare János for the afternoon it would take him to put the AI Peter back together. We might have a _thing_ going on but that doesn’t mean I know anything about AIs.”

“We gave him to you because János isn’t here,” Nia said, shoving things down into the gaps of her luggage. “He’s somewhere in the dead zone-”

She froze and stopped packing as something caught up with her. She turned to look at Lana.

“What do you _mean, ‘we might have a **thing** going on’_?”

“I’m pregnant,” Lana informed her. “A little more than two months now.”

“He got you _pregnant?_ ”

“No, _we_ got me pregnant. It’s a mutual sort of activity.”

“What is he, incapable of not ending up with kids whenever he finds a compatible reproductive system?”

“It’s triplets,” Lana said.

_“Triplets,”_ Nia echoed, looking a little alarmed.

“Where is he in the dead zone?” Lana asked.

“I don’t know, all Hungary could tell me was that he was safe and not in any particular emotional distress and she didn’t want to go grab him because she wasn’t sure if it would cause him more trouble or not, because she doesn’t know if he’s gotten involved in something… Resistance-y, I guess.”

Lana went back home and put the Hunt’s AI interface on- imitation leather gloves, small earpiece, membrane screen for glasses or contact lens.

“Peter?” she said quietly. “Can you hear me?”

The AI wasn’t dead, but- the best way to talk about it was probably _‘sick’_. She was thinking of him as having a nasty head cold, the sorts that made you just want to lie down and sleep until it was all over because of the pounding pressure in your skull.

Peter made a sound roughly approximate to some sort of dying animal.

“What do you think about going to find János, huh?” she asked. “And getting him to fix you up? He was supposed to be back home a week ago and I was going to tell him about the kids, but since it doesn’t seem like he can get out of the dead zone I guess I’ll just have to get in there and tell him myself. They’re saying there were _Tylwyth_ doing glamours on the army, too- _I’m_ Tylwyth fey, if he gets himself in trouble I can do something about it.”

“Nice,” Peter said.

“Could you talk to your people to get us there?” Lana asked him. “I should be able to go regularly until Greylea-Griolara, but then I’m going to need to find a smuggler or something, and then I don’t know what the planets in the dead zone will be like with visas and such. I don’t know how safe it will be.”

“Faked papers?”

“If you can, if I need them?”

“Done,” Peter told her. “For the Wanderer- lots. _Ours._ ”

Lana had been hoping that the AIs would be strongly inclined towards the man who had made them, so this was nice to hear.

She called Hungary as she did her own packing, and Peter got her a spot on the next ship out to Griolara. Hungary was able to tell her that her son was out on Kulea, which was three planet stops from Griolara. That made things a bit easier.

She didn’t tell Hungary she was going to have three new grandchildren within the year. There was no reason to have her worried about that too.

* * *

Greylea had been officially put under the rule of the Hunt, both as an expedited version of the process that had been happening anyway, and in response to its new lack of government. Selah was staying over on her planet for the time being, doing her best to get the new Hunt and civilian administrators up to speed, and Heng was back on Shariya and refusing, for the moment, to make any sort of visits, and his siblings had all gone back to their planets and cities, and so Nikolaus was alone in Atarah again, trying to make his government work.

That didn’t last as long as he’d thought it would, because his _Elti_ returned about a week after the attack and bought out the top two floors of Atarah’s fanciest hotel, the Lilac Dawn, to serve as her living quarters, center of operations, and temporary state rooms while she stayed on the front. It was, so he was told, the only place on Griolara they could get that matched the grandeur, if not the style, of the Jagdshall.

Nikolaus had planned on just going up to the hotel every day, since he knew his _Elti_ was going to use her stationing here as a way to spend more time with him _and_ teach him things about government about the same time, but the afternoon after she’d arrived, while various Jäger were still rushing about reorganizing things and liaising with the hotel staff to set up the second-to-top floor more effectively as living/office spaces and the second suite on the top floor as a war room, Isolde called to report Lana Kirkland missing. They knew that Lana had been asking around about János, and had called Hungary who had told her that her son was on Kulea, and that Lana had gotten a ticket from the spaceport in Vicenza to go to Greylea- but after she’d gotten on the ship, they’d lost her. No one knew if she’d gotten off; and if she’d gotten off, where she’d gone from there.

“We don’t have time or people to spare looking for her,” _Elti_ half-snapped at Isolde. “She left Martigny under her own power and volition to go to Greylea- she’s a Tylwyth fey _Seelenkind_ sorcererwho’s been managing just fine for herself the last three centuries or so, so she’ll just have to _keep_ doing it.”

An alert _did_ go out to Greylea to send word if she was found anywhere in the usual systems- logged into the Greylea Internet from one of her devices, on a hotel or hostel register, a ship’s passenger manifest, changing money, on security cameras somewhere- but that was all that was done.

His _Elti_ had him move into the hotel suite with her- _‘Just in case!’_ , _Dyadya_ Vanya assured him- anyway, though.

“There are two bedrooms here, _I’m_ not going to be using two bedrooms,” his _Elti_ told him. “There’s enough space in the rest of the suite for me to work, so I might as well use what I’m paying for.”

Nikolaus wasn’t really upset about moving into the Lilac Dawn- it was nicer than his place next to the governor’s house, and _Elti_ was there to make it even better- but it was more change during a time when things were already off-balance.

He should have slept well, in the nice bed and with _Elti_ just a room away from him, but he’d given up on trying to sleep before the sun rose, and sat up watching the black fade into Griolara’s characteristic beautifully bright light purple dawn sky the hotel was named for.

Breakfast was in the hotel’s daytime restaurant, housed in a first-floor attachment. It was a great open space, with a lot of glass, in the old Environmentalist style that had been popular back when _Elti_ and Arik had still been normal-human-aged. Nikolaus remembered it from HabéTech’s old corporate headquarters in Berlin, where it had been preserved in the ground entrance and nearby rentable conference spaces, and the company museum, which took up the whole second level. It was a reasonably-popular throwback style on the Hunt worlds, when the architects weren’t building in imitation of one of the Honalenier styles or the distinct mix of last-millennia human and Domdruc of the Jagdsberg in Martigny, which was usually what the government buildings were modeled on. Atarah’s were no different, and so all the glass and vague minimalism offset by pots and pots of indoor greenery seemed very strange to him.

A long table had been brought out and set up for them, instead of the smaller circular and square tables dotting the floor elsewhere, and so Nikolaus ate while sitting in on what was basically a semi-public strategy meeting.

It was _Elti_ and _Dyadya_ Vanya, of course, but also General Wähner and General Agresta, and Witchbreaker Generalleutnant Demyanev, and General Yurivitch of Logistics and Quartermaster General Ljungstrand, and Untermarschall Agresta and Arik, and Kommandant ap Gwyn and Kommandant Boreas- everyone from High Command, or otherwise invited, who had taken rooms and temporary offices in the Lilac Dawn. He’d expected General Adimari to be here too, but he probably _was_ more needed at the Uaclleon shipyards.

“We’re going to have an _actual_ army this time, right Nia?” Untermarschall Agresta asked. “Because holding Rome with just the Hunt was one thing-”

“Michele’s making sure that one’s raised from Rome and Martinach-Liechtenstein,” _Elti_ interrupted her. “Johanna’s going around the planets to ask for volunteers. It’s not going to be a very _big_ army, Diana, but it will _actually_ be an army.”

“But how well will they be trained?” _Dyadya_ Vanya asked. “It is possible to win wars with a badly trained and badly equipped army, Nia, but you need far superior numbers to supply the cannon fodder. You cannot raise an army big enough for that.”

“And unless you’ve been hiding regular military armaments somewhere,” General Agresta added. “You don’t actually have anything to equip them with. Martinach-Liechtenstein doesn’t _have_ a standing army. There’s what the Republican Guard in Rome has, and that’s it. No standing military in Martinach-Liechtenstein, just old Swiss laws waiting to be reinstated; and _nothing_ on the planets-”

“I _know_ that,” _Elti_ cut him off, irritated. “I _know_ that, Nico- _and_ I know I have no one to train them and no one to lead them, before you go there!”

She gave herself a moment to calm down.

“I would have said damn the political distinctions and give it to you, Ivan, or you, Boreas- but neither of you are trained in whatever modern equipment and tactics are.”

“There have been only a few small civil wars that have been shooting wars since the fall of Russia,” _Dyadya_ Vanya said. “They cannot have changed that much.”

“Maybe they haven’t,” _Elti_ told him. “But there’s the difference between the Hunt and the Republic and the Principalities and the planets to think about.”

“They’re not _that_ different,” Nikolaus said. “It’s all _Groβjagdsreich_.”

He felt a thin spike of emotion from his _Elti;_ and the Agrestas and General Wähner didn’t look all that comfortable either.

“What?”

“Your _Elti_ likes to believe that there is no _Groβjagdsreich,_ ” _Dyadya_ Vanya told him.

“There _isn’t,_ ” _Elti_ insisted, shooting a brief glare at him. “The Jagdsprinz isn’t the Prince of Martinach; who isn’t the Prince Regent of Liechtenstein; who isn’t the General of the Republican Protectorate; who isn’t the Prince of Uaclleon, or Uxcilia; or King of Oetrbyke, or Oskapus, or Aphwhion; the Regnant State Head of Ubrilles, or Aostarth, or Docury; _or_ the Reigning Official of the Colony of Griolara. Those are all _distinct positions,_ and exist without depending on any of the others.”

“But you fill all of them,” _Dyadya_ Vanya pointed out, tone purposefully mild. “It is a bureaucratic mess.”

“It is, Jagdsprinz,” General Yurivitch told her apologetically.

“It’s really just you being republican at this point, Nia,” General Agresta put in. “I know that _‘Empire’_ isn’t really- a _good_ word, it doesn’t have nice associations for me either, but it _is_ actually what you have.”

“There is no harm in calling something what it is, Jagdsprinz,” Generalleutnant Demyanev said.

“What’s wrong with _‘Empire’_?” Kommandant ap Gwyn asked.

“You could incorporate, _Elti_ ,” Nikolaus told her. “I don’t think anyone would mind. _I’d_ like it.”

“I can have public opinion polls,” Generalleutnant Agresta said. “Results by the end of the week.”

“This is _exactly_ what happened _last_ war,” his _Elti_ snapped at the table. “I got ganged up on to force a decision-”

“It was a _good_ decision, _Elti,_ ” Arik said. “And this would be too. You could check with Mosè, but if you incorporate to an Empire, than you have reason to use the Hunt to free Ubrilles, Oetrbyke, and Aphwhion. They’ve been seized _from you,_ then.”

“ _Ex post facto,_ ” _Elti_ retorted, frowning.

“It was still an invasion when they did it,” Arik pointed out. “Only now there’s less bureaucracy involved in getting the Hunt called out, because you’re Jagdsprinz _and_ all of your other titles at once, not separately. You wouldn’t legally be about ten different people any longer- just the one. _And_ I’m pretty sure it gives you probable cause to take out Iohines, Qecarro, Sciater, and Oquioshea.”

“And that reason would be?” _Elti_ asked, tone warning him to tread carefully.

“They’re in the way,” he said simply. “They’re obstructing the free movement of ships between scattered parts of your empire, preventing the movement of goods and services, disrupting your sovereignty by interfering with your economy and infrastructure.”

_Elti_ looked to _Djadja_ Vanya for his input.

_Djadja_ Vanya shrugged.

“I would just kill them,” he said. “They know what they did.”

“I’m assuming that the other planets had their governments killed the same way as Griolara,” Arik continued. “So all you’d need, _Elti,_ was assent from their Nations, and then it would be legal. It’s precedented. You’re Jagdsprinz- you know _exactly_ where they are if you bother to look, even Oskar and Reut who haven’t called in or anything.”

The table was silent for a few moments.

“Diana,” _Elti_ eventually said. “Only a week for poll results?”

“Even earlier if that’s what you want-”

“No, take the whole week, you have more important things to do. But if- _if-_ they come back favorable for incorporation into an empire, _then_ I’ll _consider_ doing it. Nothing more- so will you all _shut up_ about it now? There’s a _war_ on.”

* * *

Iran had been to meetings of the Colonial Space Council on Haero before, but not so often that she could claim to be particularly familiar with it. She went whenever the UN had a particular ruling to hand down to the CSC, or Earth needed representation on Haero for some reason.

This visit was different than all the rest- not the first time she’d been at an emergency CSC meeting, but the first time that she was expected to _stay._

One month, two months, three months, no one was sure how long she was going to be staying up here. The UN and her government had agreed on her staying on Haero, or going about Further Space as needed, for _‘the duration of the crisis’_. Whether that was supposed to mean the entire war, or just until everyone had calmed down about it, no one could say.

The CSC was considerably smaller than the United Nations, containing only seventy-five members rather than the almost two-hundred of the UN, and her only real order of business this meeting was to announce the changes in the Outer Space Treaty regarding the militarization of space.

Most of the seats in the meeting hall were empty. There were fourteen major planets in the dead zone and thirteen minor ones, with fifty-one CSC seats between them, since the thirteen unincorporated countries of Spuereytov were all in the dead zone.

It was a very empty room.

The present Nations and delegates- not even all of the remaining twenty-four seats, since Greylea, Griolara, Shariya, Uaclleon, Uxcilia, and Asmeshan were all dealing with being front-lines planets, or at least near-to-front-lines in the case of Uaclleon and Uxcilia, who were buttressing their neighbors.

Of the front line planets who had come, Eridrea seemed shaken, and Iran would bet he was trying not to look scared in the aftermath of his first death, but his neighbor Zeshan was still looking pretty pleased with himself over the new lightspeed path. Theiostea was trying to keep her youngest sister Ushippe from crying, and Lonia, the sole planet of Further Space on the lightspeed Theiostea Pass anchored in Earth and Brioclite _not_ controlled by Venice, was pointedly avoiding Brioclite in favor of Genov.

Lonia had been a bit of a scandal, not too long ago. Venice had been conniving in xir government, and Lonia had _not_ been quiet about it when xe found out.

Genov was the final front-lines planet. He wasn’t particularly social- Lonia was his only friend, and they stuck together, both personally and politically.

Unsocial he may have been, but he was one of the best-informed Nations about the goings-on of the other colonies. It was part of his inherently suspicious nature, which was another reason why he only had one friend.

Iran slipped into their space, and let the sudden stiffening of their attitudes pass unremarked. It was a pitfall of working with space Nations as an Earth Nation that the space Nations would regard you as strange and somewhat intimidating, at least if you were more than a couple of centuries old. It was a combination of holding onto some outdated values and mannerisms, and being old enough to have actually _lived_ during a time when people didn’t know about magic or aliens. Kyonig and the German Lands and Martinach were, as usual, caught in the time between, old enough to have been born at around the time when all of this was wild speculation or very, very new, but not old enough to have lived it in the same way as their elders. She knew from his complaints how very much the German Lands disliked coming to space and having to deal with the Nations there- even Eridrea wasn’t entirely exempt, though he looked at Gilbert with a sort of terrified awe that would have, in centuries passed, made any Nation with a colonial empire feel satisfied that their work had been properly done.

Terrified awe was not what Iran got from the space Nations, and she was quite happy with that. She got something entirely different and much more to her liking, clear in the way that Lonia and Genov broke off their conversation entirely when her presence was noted, Lonia’s eyes dropping to xir feet and Genov making a jerky little forward motion, the barest consent to a bow.

Iran got _respect._

Oh, on Earth, if she exerted herself, she could take some leadership and command of other Nations because she was the eldest; but Earth Nations still ran on a loose hierarchy of most power and influence, Nations like America and China and India and Brazil throwing their weight around based on their economy and cultural influence and manpower, Nations like Venice and the German Lands and Martinach asserting themselves on the basis of their space holdings and connections to Honalee. Earth Nations, _old_ Nations, sorted themselves on the basis of two things: their _‘real’_ political power based on what their humans could do and get away with on the international stage, and the regard they held among their peers. Iran had a lot of the second, in the right circles and amongst a broader population in the right circumstances; but still not much of the first. She was more of a regional power than a global or galactic one.

On Earth, at least.

Sometimes, she felt like there were entirely too many of her. She’d gotten used to being Forouzandeh, the woman who had as a young girl been the nomadic neighbor to Assur, Babylon, Sumer, Akkad, Anshan, and Susa; and Iran, Persia, Media, _Parsua_ , the Nation who had been four different empires, held five different dynastic periods, and was currently a republic, to herself.

To the United Nations, she was _‘Earth’_ when they needed to talk to the colonies and _‘humanity’_ when they needed to talk to the Pict or Honalee. That was the easier role, the one that came naturally- she was almost as old as the category of _‘Nations’_ itself, and so it was just _right_ that she be _‘humanity’_.

To the space colonies, she was a mythical figure, on par with the most respected Kings of Honalee- except that the _‘most respected’_ were treated rather differently than in Honalee. The Jagdsprinz was an old neighbor, for whom familiarity could never supersede the slight paranoia of feeling _judged;_ and Amphitrite was primarily _‘Venice’s wife’_ , and not _‘Queen of Póli Thálassas’_. To the space colonies, she was as old as humanity and the model example of the best of _‘an old Nation’_ \- collected, level-headed, dignified, pleasant company, knowledgeable, wise to the human condition, who put duty before self.

It was reputation she was happy to keep up, because idealization it might have been, but it got her the respect that wasn’t accorded to her on Earth.

“The news?” she asked Genov.

“Everyone’s scared,” he said. “Some of them are trying to look brave, most of them aren’t trying for pretenses. A few of them are panicking a little, even if they’ll try not to do it here. Also surprise, and confusion.”

Iran waited for him to elaborate.

“Everyone thought it would be _us,_ ” Lonia told her. “But we’re not involved in the dead zone, so they’re even more freaked about it than they would be. It doesn’t make sense to them.”

“It makes no sense to anyone,” Iran said. “And the two of you?”

They glanced at each other.

“I’m a little scared,” Lonia admitted, mumbling.

Genov just shrugged, an expansive, rolling motion.

“I’ve got nothing good to steal,” he said by way of explanation.

The actual meeting started only a few minutes later, and Iran delivered the UN’s news- the Outer Space Treaty had been supplemented by the Pact for the Military Defense of Further Space, which superseded the first treaty’s rules about warfare. There would still be no nuclear weapons of any type, but troop transports and ship-to-ship weapons were allowed, and the colonies could raise their own troops for incorporation into the United Nations’ army, or keep them separate and coordinate with the UN.

Iran, as per her directions, emphasized the _‘incorporation into the United Nations’_ aspect rather than the _‘separate’_ part. Earth didn’t want the colonies to get ideas about turning their armies towards Earth.

She, however, was content to deliver the treaty, watch as everyone in Further Space and on Earth argued, and wait for the United Nations’ necessary attempt at a unified army to fall spectacularly apart.

* * *

The pounding on the door woke him up, but Dietrich wasn’t sufficiently conscious to prevent his secretary from barging into the room, which startled Isolde awake, and led to the ensuing swearing as she promptly rolled off her side of the bed and out of sight, diving for her clothes.

Dietrich and his secretary spent a long moment in frozen silence staring at each other, broken only when Isolde tossed his pants up onto the bed.

“We have _company_ get _dressed!_ ” she hissed from the floor.

He did his best to put his pants on without removing the sheets, unhappily certain that his glare was more embarrassed than dignified, and failed to will his secretary into staying silent and going away.

“So,” his secretary began hesitantly. “How many people-”

_“Just the three of us,”_ Dietrich told him, doing his best to convey that no one else, especially the Jagdsprinz and the General, under any circumstances, particularly involving the Jagdsprinz and the General, needed to _ever_ know about this, _ever,_ because it _would_ get back to the Jagdsprinz and the General and they _did not need to know._

 “ _Razanás_ Martinach?” his secretary said. “People are looking for you. You should go home, there’s been an emergency.”

Emergencies were important but not important enough that the man couldn’t have let him _properly wake up first._

“There can’t have been an emergency,” Isolde said, head briefly reappearing over the side of the bed as she felt around under the covers for a still-missing piece of clothing. She ran two fingers lightly down the bottom of his foot briefly as she rooted around, and Dietrich suppressed a shiver by thinking about how unfair it was that she was managing to maintain most of her dignity even though they both _knew_ she was getting hastily dressed after having been surprised- well, caught- in an amorous liaison. “I would have felt if there had been an emergency-”

She froze, eyes widening, as something occurred to her, and Dietrich used the opportunity to surreptitiously slide her her underwear under the covers. He’d been sitting on it.

“It wasn’t- it isn’t Griolara, is it, or Greylea-”

“The Prince and Princess of the Tylwyth Teg are dead,” the man told her.

“What?” Isolde asked, voice small and disbelieving. “Ly Erg and Odile-?”

“They were attending court in Vaduz, discharging a diplomatic duty on behalf of Queen Nicnevin. They presented her formal assurances that she and her people had no knowledge of or involvement with the attacks in Further Space. They accepted an invitation to stay overnight and were enjoying a small late-running party when the Tylwyth commandoes attacked.”

“ _Distawydwr,_ ” Isolde corrected him, standing up now that she was dressed enough to be respectable and went looking for her shoes. Dietrich slid out of bed to find a shirt. “ _Lygriwr_ , not Tylwyth. Don’t mix them up. In _Vaduz?_ ”

“We had it from Berlin ten minutes ago,” the secretary informed her. “They said it came from _‘Jacques’_.”

Dietrich recognized the name of the AI the state offices of Martinach-Liechtenstein shared.

“Jack wouldn’t be wrong,” he heard Isolde murmur to herself. “But both-”

“They killed Lady von Rothbart first, _mágvhat,_ and they think that they meant _only_ to kill her, except then the Prince attacked them and they defended themselves and- the Prince wasn’t much in his right mind at the time, apparently.”

“They loved each other so much,” Isolde said. “He wouldn’t be.”

“He’s Jäger,” Dietrich said, locating his shirt and deciding he might as well wear a new one. This one had been lying on the floor, after all. “Are you _sure_ he’s dead?”

“The protection comes mostly _when_ they’re Hunting, Dietrich- it wouldn’t kill _Elti,_ and wouldn’t kill Nico, and Ly had some power of his own as Prince, but _Distawydwr_ groups are seven, ten people. That would be enough.”

“Sir,” his secretary said. “The government wants you in Vaduz to express condolences and solidarity.”

“Fine, okay, I’ll go,” Dietrich told him, slightly distracted by his closet and the way Isolde looked like the loss was starting to settle in. “ _Wait_ a minute, next time.”

His secretary left and Dietrich forwent buttoning up the new shirt he’d selected in favor of taking Isolde’s hand.

“Isolde?”

She wrapped her arms around him.

“I don’t think he wanted to live,” she said. “If someone had gotten him out of the situation and thinking, he probably wouldn’t have- but he’d seen his father and the people he worked with killed in front of him, and lived through Odile being ridiculed and slandered and turned into a _swan_ by his own _mother,_ and I think that was probably just-”

Dietrich kissed her hair and squeezed her gently.

“So it’s… Odette, now, right?”

Isolde made a scoffing noise.

“They wouldn’t have her mother,” she said. “They won’t have _her._ I remember what people were saying around the Bloody Court.”

 “So it’s a succession crisis, then?”

“Probably.”

They took a few more minutes to get themselves together, and then went to Vaduz. They had expected some carnage and confusion, and Liesl, but they hadn’t been told the Jagdsprinz had been called.

In hindsight, Dietrich realized that they should have assumed she would be there.

Her eyes narrowed at them as they walked in together, but that was quickly replaced by relief at seeing her daughter. Dietrich politely moved himself out of the way while Isolde got hugged again, and the Jagdsprinz told her that when they’d found that she’d left her phone in her room they’d thought _Distawydwr_ had gotten her too, where had she _been?_

“I was in Stuttgart, _Elti,_ ” she told the Jagdsprinz, and Dietrich was suddenly very much reminded of the fact that Isolde had never lied to her _Elti,_ not once in her entire life. It was a totally futile endeavor, and the Jagdsprinz was also pretty good at spotting evasions of the truth that weren’t technically lies. She’d had some centuries of practice at it by now. “With Dietrich.”

“Well why didn’t you take your phone?”

Isolde didn’t say anything and Dietrich tried not to look nervous.

_“Isolde.”_

She looked down.

“I didn’t want anyone to know I was in Stuttgart.”

_“Why?”_

He and Nia might have managed to be friends now, but there was always a little undercurrent of history between them, and Dietrich and Isolde had been hiding things to keep from exacerbating it. But he _was_ technically the older person in this relationship, one of her former teachers, thirty-four years older than her but it was 2432 this year, not 2083, and both of them were three hundred-something, almost four hundred now. Thirty-four years and some fifteen more of teaching, mentorship, and uneven physical age didn’t matter much.

Dietrich was ever-so-slightly older, and Isolde was her daughter, and he was friends with both of them and in a human this would have looked like a case of someone taking advantage of the relationship with the parent to get to the child, and he didn’t want Nia to be made at Isolde, so he said:

“I was sleeping with her.”

“You were _what._ ”

“Non-marital congress?” he prompted. He was being defensive and assholish and he _knew_ it, and Isolde was giving him that look she did whenever this happened, but right now he _was_ defensive and deep down, he was pretty sure he _was_ kind of an asshole. “Personally improving international relations.”

“I haven’t heard that one since Francis died,” Liesl said, and Dietrich was suddenly struck, in the moment of seeing Nia’s expression go from shock to a kind of horrified outrage at being subjected to this knowledge, that they were at the scene of a murder and this was completely inappropriate.

“Are they still around?” he asked. “The _Distawydwr_?”

It took Nia a moment to push herself past the former topic of conversation.

“Assuming a historical number of members in a group, Ly Erg killed most of them,” she said. “He left two incapacitated but alive, and we think at least one got away. The Hounds are being brought in, and I will have _answers_.”

That last was said with the cold anger of the Jagdsprinz, and Dietrich was more than happy to leave her presence, accompanying Isolde to see Odette von Rothbart, and offer his ordered condolences.

* * *

The Hounds had found the last _Distawydwr_ that had escaped, and the Jagdsprinz had re-scoured the Court for any sign of a Tylwyth lord or hanger-on harboring the sort of anti-human sentiment she’d thought she’d cleaned out when a portion of the surviving Court had been exiled to Aphwhion to no avail.

Odette wasn’t quite sure if she should be relieved about that or not. On one hand, the lack of plotting so close to home was good; but on the other, even the Jagdsprinz had admitted the impossibility of her checking every inhabitant of the Silent Hills personally to find out if the _Distawydwr_ had been home-grown, or snuck in from Further Space.

She also wasn’t sure which option would be more terrifying. Puzzling that out required too much mental effort, emotional exhaustion of the past few hours had left her with just enough resolve to do exactly one thing, once she worked up the energy.

The Jagdsprinz had gone back to Griolara and the Jäger she’d brought had gone back to Martigny, and she was in her grandmother’s quarters, in the King’s Study, just one room away from where her parents were being prepared to lie in state by her grandmother’s ladies-in-waiting.

“The confirmation will be four days,” her grandmother said, filling the silence with information they both knew already, a distraction from the weight of grief pervading the room. “The Lord of Finias will come tomorrow, and the other Lords of the Four Cities after him. The funeral will be the day after, and I will officially name you heir and Princess of the Tylwyth Teg at the vigil feast.”

That naming was a formality, a bit of ceremony. Odette had felt the edge of the power of the King of the Tylwyth Teg possessed thread around her bones when her father had been killed, making her Princess of the Tylwyth Teg by granting her just a taste of the power she would have when her grandmother died and it all came to her.

“It is short notice, and I wouldn’t otherwise wish you to be distracting during the mourning period, but you will need a new wardrobe and appointments for your household will have to be decided, since you aren’t serving the Hunt-”

“No,” she said.

“Odette,” her grandmother said sadly. “You serve Martinach-Liechtenstein in your position at the university, not the Jagdsprinz. I know you have no wish to give it up, and your father would have let you keep it, but we _must_ show a strong front.”

“I won’t,” Odette told her. “I _won’t_ be Princess. I won’t be your heir.”

“It is your _duty-_ ”

“It’s no disrespect to you or your position, Grandmother,” Odette said. “I know the weight of the responsibility and the power. I- you remember how I was when I was young, I couldn’t _wait_ to be Queen someday.”

Queen Nicnevin looked over at the door separating them from the bodies of their murdered family.

“I had the throne room cleared, during one of your visits,” she said, remembering. “You climbed up into the throne and looked around the room like a monarch born. You were _meant_ to rule, Odette. You will be good for your people, a strong Queen.”

“I won’t, Grandmother,” Odette told her. “It won’t be because I can’t do it- I know I can. But I wouldn’t be expected. They would defy me even more than they do you. You know very well that many of the people still see you as a placeholder between Grandfather and Father. You married into the line of Beli Mawr, you aren’t a descendant yourself. I might be of the blood of the first King, but I’m _fey._ ”

“I have my power from Ereshkigal herself, as all other Kings,” her grandmother said stiffly. “I _am_ Queen of the Tylwyth Teg, and so shall you be!”

“They didn’t respect Mother as Princess, or even Lady on her own lands,” Odette reminded her. “And they wouldn’t accept her future as wife to their King, so they killed her. The blatant anti-humans, the people who would _do_ anything about it, might all be dead or on Aphwhion now, but that doesn’t mean that the people left here in the Hills see humans as equal enough to have me as heir. It was one thing when I was in Martigny, just like it was one thing when Mother and Father were with the Hunt, or at Court right under your nose. I-”

She paused to reach for her grandmother’s hands, and slipped out of her chair onto the carpet, to kneel before her.

“Thank you for your faith in me, Grandmother,” she said. “But you _cannot_ make me your heir and Princess of the Tylwyth Teg, and I _cannot_ be Queen.”

“ _I_ am Queen,” Nicnevin said. “And my rights of succession, you _are_ the lawful heir.”

“Grandmother,” Odette said, looking up at her. “You can have me, or you can have the Silent Hills. You can’t have both.”

There were a few long moments of silence, and then her grandmother demanded:

“And why _not?_ ”

“If you have me, you lose your last chance at keeping your authority,” she told her. “If you don’t name me heir, you still have some power.”

“I will have no power if I am seen capitulating to _Lygriwr!_ ”

“ _You_ aren’t, Grandmother,” Odette said. “I am. Because they’re right not think I shouldn’t be Queen.”

“They _cannot_ force this,” Nicnevin spat. “They _cannot-_ I _will not_ allow it!”

She didn’t really want to go here; but it was the reason why she _couldn’t,_ rather than _shouldn’t._

“Grandmother,” Odette said. “The last time the heir to the throne was thought unfit, half of your in-laws slaughtered each other and Ereshkigal rewrote the fundamental workings of magic and the universe and Grandfather had to give up being King to become Jagdsprinz, all so it wouldn’t happen again. It changed the entire power balance of Honalee and created the human Nations. Now, Honalee and humanity are all tied up in each other. It’s only _looked_ like there might have been a succession crisis in the future, and there’s already been so much death, between the Jagdsprinz’s first visit to Court and now the _Distawydwr,_ and whatever carnage the war in Further Space will bring. _We **cannot** make me Princess of the Tylwyth Teg._” 

Her grandmother’s expression got tight around the eyes, and her lips pressed into a narrow line.

“It _should_ be you,” Nicnevin told her quietly, squeezing her hands. “It is yours by _right._ ”

“And it’s my right to give up, Grandmother,” Odette said. “For the greater good.”

“It will have to be Afallach, then,” her grandmother said, and Odette knew that she had been convinced. “He and Eimhir have been childless all these years, but by the time it matters it will no longer be my problem. They will be coming anyhow, it would be inappropriate not to attend his own nephew’s funeral, but-”

She stood.

“I need to send messengers, and-”

“There’s other business first, Grandmother,” Odette told her, rising herself.

The Queen of the Silent Hills looked at her, not understanding.

Odette went to her grandmother’s desk, looking for paper and ink.    

This was an old ritual, the magic used to formally summon a King, so rarely used and so severe that she doubted that most humans who had learned something about magic knew it existed. Almost all Honalenier were taught the specific variant she was going to use, but she doubted that most knew it could be used on Kings other than the Jagdsprinz.

What most people knew of ritual magic in connection to the Jagdsprinz was the forgiveness ritual, which was simpler. It’s only requirement, beyond the spoken formula, was that the person granting forgiveness sought out the Jagdsprinz themselves. The effort proved that they were truly sincere about it.

_Summoning_ the Jagdsprinz was a different matter entirely. This wasn’t going to bring her Arik’s _Elti,_ or even exactly Jagdsprinz Teufelmördor. This would bring _the_ Jagdsprinz, called up in her power, to carry out her most basic duties- passing judgement, and absolving the terms of a contract.

She had been born to be Queen of the Tylwyth Teg someday, and to give that up, she would have to break the unspoken contract she had always existed in. Kingship that wasn’t the Jagdsprinz moved automatically down the line of succession, unless Ereshkigal intervened, and so to break the connection, they needed her power in the form of her chosen instrument.

Her grandmother realized what she was doing when she drew out the five nested rings of a summoning circle on the paper, inwards out black yellow red blue white, around where the Jagdsprinz’s name-glyph would go.

“A live game animal from the Warden,” she heard her grandmother order her lady’s maids, called from their cleaning duties. “Some bandages, a pitcher of spring water with glasses, and a simple plate- bread and butter, what meat is ready, a cut apple.”

All the ritual technically needed was blood, the name-glyph, and intent, but that barest form of the ritual was for emergencies where time could not be spared. Time could be spared here, which meant that rudeness could not be tolerated. There would be proper care shown in the ritual preparation, and they would have the Jagdsprinz as a guest under the rules of hospitality, fed and accommodated.

She would be annoyed enough once the ritual was over, having been summoned back to where she’d just left.

Her grandmother provided the iron bowl and the sharp flint knife, the only real dedicated magical tools in the operation, and the five gold coins. The lady’s maids returned with the water and food, bearing a fox kit from the Warden. Odette held it while a table was quickly set up and the food laid out on one side, and then took the paper, bowl, knife, and kit to the other.

Wounding the kit was quick work, the knife for the deed and bowl to catch the little bit spilled blood. The kit was bandaged up and put down on the well-cushioned fireside armchair to heal, under the influence of a touch of magic.

Odette wrote out the Jagdsprinz’s glyph-name in the empety center of the summoning circles in the kit’s blood, then spread her hand open over the paper, only a few centimeters from touching it.

“In the name of Ereshkigal Queen of Irkalla,” Odette recited. “Ruler of the Dead, Maker of Kings, I summon you Jagdsprinz Lord of the Wild Hunt, Protector and Enforcer, First Among Kings, to bring judgement as is your duty and a responsibility of your office.”  

She touched her hand to the paper and the room went suddenly darker. The shadows deepened and the ambient light in the room disappeared, leaving only the fire, burning against the winter’s cold, still providing any illumination.

The kit jumped down onto the thick fur rug in front of the hearth and climbed into the Jagdsprinz’s lap, curling up in the warmth.

The Jagdsprinz had her back to the fire, sitting cross-legged on the rug, great fur cloak spreading out around her and the small plates on her brigandine shining dully despite the lack of real light. The antlers of her Helm swept up and back, the darkness twining around them even as the bleached bone glowed gold and red in the firelight.

Odette had been around the Jagdsprinz many times before, but never like this, not with her power called up. It was different again from how the Hunt had felt when it had been called on the escaped _Distawydwr_ in Vaduz, just before she’d come to her grandmother’s court- here, it lay heavy and watching, an old soldier in the calm after battle, a predator who had just hunted and was content to wait again to feed.

It was focused on her, who had called the summons, and she found it hard to speak.

“Jagdsprinz,” she managed. “I would renounce my claim to Kingship over the Silent Hills and the Tylwyth Teg.”

“Why?”

“For the good of my people and the Kingdom,” Odette said, and explained- the lack of trust she would get, the circumstances of the last opposition of this type, the plan to give Queen Nicnevin a final chance to her own authority.

“There must be a King,” the Jagdsprinz said when she’d finished. “Who would be heir in your place?”

“Afallach son of Llud Llaw Eraint son of Beli Mawr, First King of the Silent Hills and the Tylwyth Teg,” her grandmother answered for her. “Afallach who is brother to Gwyn Jagdsprinz Erlkönig, uncle to Ly Erg ap Gwyn, our murdered Prince. Afallach who is Lord of Avalon by his marriage to Lady Eimhir of Avalon, called Prince by right of birth but not by choice.”

The Jagdsprinz’s head turned, antlers dragging the shadows with them as the mask came to face the direction of Avalon. There was a shimmer in the darkness.

“Afallach son of Llud Llaw Eraint, you are _called._ ”

The words echoed slightly in the darkness, and Odette could hear them booming through Hall Avalon, an unmistakable order.

Avalon’s Lord stumbled through the shimmer, eyes wide, and dropped to his knees to bow when he saw that he had not been mistaken about the summoning ritual he’d just entered into.

“Jagdsprinz,” he said into the carpet. “Why am I called?”

“Odette daughter of Ly Erg son of Gwyn would not be Queen after Nicnevin,” the Jagdsprinz told him. “There _must_ be a King. Would you be, who is the only other of Beli Mawr’s line?”

Afallach looked up to Odette and Nicnevin.

“They killed my parents because they wouldn’t have my mother as Princess or Queen,” Odette told him. “I’m _fey._ What would happen if it came to me?”

She could the process of his mind as he thought it over, quickly hitting upon his killed siblings and the familicide that had so changed the universe.

“I would be, Jagdsprinz,” he said, looking at her this time instead of hiding his face in the floor. “I would be King.”

“Then I name you Afallach ap Llud Llaw,” the Jagdsprinz said, stretching out a hand to grasp his face. “Prince of the Silent Hills and the Tylwyth Teg.”

Odette could feel the power her father had held leave her, and Afallach inhaled sharply when it came to him.

It seemed such a simple thing, this transfer of power. But the tendrils she had felt had been chains, once, on one of her father’s siblings she’d never meet, and there had been such a price to pay to change that.

The Jagdsprinz dropped her hand, and Odette heard her grandmother let out a breath she’d been holding. It stuttered a bit, and felt a hand rest on her back for a moment as the Queen of the Tylwyth Teg came forward.

“We bring you a gift of thanks, Jagdsprinz,” she said, and pressed the five gold coins into the hand that had been holding her brother-in-law’s face. “We have been fairly dealt with and justly treated. Your duty has been done.”

The darkness in the room melted away and the light came back. The paper Odette had used for the summoning curled black in the flame that was eating it, and the Jagdsprinz reached up to remove her Helm.

“You couldn’t have just asked me to do this while I was here?” Nia grumbled, twisting her wrist to flick the face plate out of existence, to wherever it went when it wasn’t needed.

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Jagdsprinz,” Queen Nicnevin said. “We have hospitality for you.”

She still looked rather grumpy to Odette, but she got up, carefully holding the fox kit, and went to sit at the table with the water and the plate of food.

“Oh, get up,” she told Prince Afallach. “Go send a message to your wife. You just disappeared on her.”

* * *

Emma, Rosario, and Domdruc had been dropped outside Hafen Matlock, the only port on Aphwhion. The Hunt had snuck them onto the planet by way of the World Gate, hurriedly, in the wake of the attack in Vaduz and the strictly in-house news about Odette von Rothbart’s abdication, and then left them to join the town on their own time.

The biggest problem, or at least what they _thought_ was going to be their biggest problem, had been addressed before they’d even set foot on the planet. Domdruc was huldrene and _Drakräder_ , after all, and was going to be heavily armed throughout the trip. So how to sneak in his equipment, and keep his non-human nature secret?

Emma and Rosario, with a slightly-fudged family history involving a number of successive generations in Naples and an adultery-engendered feud that divided the family into two sides, slipped into town pretending to be accidentally-abandoned passengers on a ship that had just managed to escape the dead zone, first cousins seeking refuge from their family drama in Further Space.

They brought their cat with them.  

It was a mean-looking cat, Emma was prepared to admit, but quite loyal. No, he only _looks_ feral, Dom would never hurt anyone who didn’t hurt him first, he’s really so wonderful to have around if you’re friends with him.

Spycraft, they had been told, worked best when you confused your lies with a lot of truth.

Hafen Matlock was in a bad way. It had never been a very populous or popular port, they’d been told, but it wasn’t supposed to feel _oppressed._ There weren’t many people out, and the ones who did looked scared, and rushed about as if they were afraid of being caught outside.

The three of them casually strolled past the Hunt garrisons’ main building where the offices were kept, and the neighboring barracks. They were dark and silent, and the front door of the offices building had been left flagrantly open, propped in place by a heavy rock.

They didn’t go in. Dom could come back later, in the night, and take a look. The travelers Emma and Rosario were pretending to be wouldn’t investigate abandoned buildings.

The garrison was only the second indication of something deeply wrong. While the attitude of the people had been perhaps ignorable, and the garrison was obviously empty and a reason for some comment, it was the body strung up in the town square that moved Hafen Matlock from _‘something off’_ into _‘occupied’_.

Emma had briefly met Aphwhion’s Nation, Reut Beilschmidt, once when she was young. She wouldn’t have been able to pick out the person she’d grown into from a crowd now, but there was no one else who would have had their throat slit and a cloth jammed through the wound to tie her corpse to the pole that been pounded into the little garden in the middle of the square. Reut had been better secured to the pole by means of lashing her shoulders to a short wooden crosspiece nailed to the pole, and then her arms had been spread a little by pulling them taunt with more ropes, tied to stakes thrust into the soil at the sides of the garden.

A sign had been posted at the top of the pole, in the Roman lettering of Standard Communication used between ship and planet that many knew but few learned as a first language, and Trade Creole- _‘False King’_.

Emma and Rosario didn’t linger here, either. They went looking for a hotel room, gave the desk their story about being abandoned, and got a room on the ground floor. They left the window open that night for Domdruc to slip out, and when he came back in the early hours of the morning they locked the door and closed the curtains so he could change to human form and tell them what he’d found.

“There’s blood all through the garrison,” he told them. “But no prisoners, and no bodies. The _Distawydwr_ didn’t bother masking scent, so I know they took the Jäger with them, alive or dead, but I don’t know where they went. The scent faded, and got confused with other things.”

So there was nothing they could really do for the missing garrison, they decided; but they _could_ get Reut down, and find out what she knew.

It was time to plan a rescue mission.

* * *

Peter had gotten her off of the ship in Greylea unseen by security, talking to Aurora, the planetary AI, to get her ignored by surveillance and unlogged in the computer systems. He fell silent to let Aurora talk her through getting public transportation down around to the smaller spaceports where the smugglers’ ships hid out, the smaller-than-average carracks that took a skeleton crew mostly working the computers to change their colors, coordinates, ship manifests, registration information- anything they’d need.

She got passage on a smuggler as Elaine Hackett of Briomaenides, her new identity water-tight to all security courtesy of Aurora.

The smuggler got her and Peter out to Iohines, where Peter put some words in to Stan while the ship hackers frantically tried to trick him with everything they knew. Stan toyed with them a little, letting the hackers think they’d _just_ slipped by, instead of him allowing them to trick the computers he was connected to.

On Iohines Lana found that communication, travel, and business were operating essentially as usual throughout the dead zone. It was just in total lock-down to the outside world, which she heard some people grumbling about.

“They don’t seem very concerned,” she whispered to Peter when she found herself in a secluded spot.

_‘They’re plenty concerned,’_ Stan assured her, sharing Peter’s earbud for the moment. _‘But there are some things they’re still not sure they can say in public. Most people agree with **why** the government did what they did, but not the **how.** ’_

“What?” she asked. “What did they do? Why?”

_‘Distawydwr in Hunt post,’_ Stan said. _‘The Oversight Commission is mostly still there but they’re running scared. Iohines yelled at the Governor a lot yesterday. They’re both scared too. They didn’t think this would happen. They just wanted to be free.’_

It was maddeningly enigmatic and not that helpful, but there were more people around now and she couldn’t get away with talking to herself. She got on her new, legitimate passenger ship, and got to Traevsabr.

_‘Murderers!’_ Mycroft hissed to her when they entered into her wireless sphere. _‘Murderers murderers **traitors** they killed the Jäger I **saw them** they thought no one was watching but **I saw them!** ’_

This ship was only supposed to have a short stopover in Traevsabr, to dislodge the few passengers with short tickets, but Lana got her longer one cancelled and let it leave Khares Kharad without her.

“Where?” she whispered to Mycroft in the privacy of a bathroom stall, and the membrane screen in front of her eye started lighting things up in bright, angry wildfire orange, guiding her out of the spaceport to the post’s building, where they kept their offices and quarters. Mycroft had her look at it for a minute, then led her around the block to an alley, and then over a high fence to the stretch of pavement that the post’s building could claim as a ‘backyard’, shared with the back entrances with other buildings on the block. It was the traditional area for the trash and recycling bins, and they were here in profusion, though completely empty, abandoned by the inhabitants of the other buildings.

So were the corpses of the Jäger assigned to Traevsabr, now more than two weeks old.

_‘It took eight hours for anyone to call them in and by then everyone knew what had happened,’_ Mycroft told her, utterly furious. _‘The police are too scared to come and waste transports won’t either.’_

Lana found the one in the Generalleutnant’s uniform and knelt down to gently move their face, trying to see if she recognized who it was.

“Peter,” she said quietly. “Who was this?”

It took him a few seconds to work through his memory.

_‘Géraud Paquet,’_ he told her. _‘One of the early humans. Swiss. Lausanne. Your age. Reason he had a trade planet.’_

The back door to the post was unlocked and Lana went through every room, gathering up the files and paperwork that had been spilled and putting them in order. She cleaned up the bloodstains and re-did the laundry that had been abandoned, and did her best to put it back where it belonged. The spoiled food was thrown out, the dishes finished.

She had Peter record the details of every room before she touched it, and locked all the doors behind her when she was done.

Lana went to the workshop of the post’s few sorcerers and located their black books, the journals the kept of their affinities and personal spells. She tucked them in her luggage- they would go back to the sorcerer’s archives in Fürsten Universität Martinach-Liechtenstein.

“I want to make a statement, Mycroft,” she told Traevsabr’s AI as she gathered some materials for herself. “Where’s the Mages’ Market?”

The area of Khares Kharad that dealt mostly in magical supplies for the sorcerers and technomancers and minor magic-users, Honalenier and fey and fey-blooded and human folk, was near the post, as was typical. Lana bought a jug of juniper oil and some holly branches and hawthorn twigs, and walked under a glamour back to the post.

She laid a holly branch on each corpse and used the wood to burn the bodies, quickly, sweeping the ashes up into individual jars from the post workshop and labelling them with the proper names. The jars went into their particular rooms and had hawthorn lain in front of the thresholds. Black pepper was shaken into the juniper oil, and she used the brush from her own kit to apply it to the join of each outside wall to the floor, a long line around the inside of the building.

“Peter, could you give the recordings from in here to Mycroft?” she asked as she worked. “And Mycroft- compile that and what you have from the Jäger being murdered, bundle it up, and get ready to send it to the Jagdsprinz.”

_’There aren’t any ships carrying messages out of the dead zone,’_ Mycroft protested.

“There are smugglers,” she retorted. “Send it to Stan, and he can stuff it into one of their computers to have it automatically offload when it gets back to Greylea-Griolara.”

The outside doors Lana locked with the regular physical and magical key combination, and the wrapped steel wire around the door handles for an extra bit of warding. On the outside, again under glamour, she brushed the peppered juniper oil onto the base of the building, going the full way around.

A thought and a touch when she reached the road-side door activated the inside ward. She slung the jug sharply upwards, spilling the rest of the oil she hadn’t used, and pictured where she wanted it to go. Another thought when it was in place, the oil still in the brush and a third thought to close and activate the outside ward, and drop the glamour on the building.

At first it was a gasp from one person, then a shout from another, and then the whole street was staring at the building.

The glamour Lana had put on herself was a complicated little thing, more than _Distawydwr_ bothered with because they had so many senses and sensors to fool. She was still seen, but brains refused to consciously acknowledge her presence. People just stepped out of her way and moved around her, unthinking and unnoticing, and it was in this way that she got to the other side of the road and part way up a fire escape, to a good view.

“One more picture, Peter,” she said. “Mycroft, make sure this one comes first in the bundle.”

Across the road from here, words were burned into brick and glass, preserved against tampering inside the building wards she’d laid on as powerfully as she dared. It would take another _Seelenkind,_ János or Nico or Nia,or an old Honalenier King or regularly-practicing Nation, to break them.

_‘And so the Hunt fell upon Kêr-Is, for the Queen had betrayed them in the instant she committed her sins and sullied all her Kingdom with her’_ \- a fragment of the story of Ahes, the Sorcerer-Queen of Kêr-Is, across the top floor.

_‘This stone will be a witness against us’_ \- from the Old Testament, thick, stark black letters across the second floor.

And just above the door: _‘The Jagdsprinz’s mercy-_

Old phrasing, a common warning-curse, because the Jagdsprinz’s mercy was no mercy at all- especially not Teufelmördor’s.

_-on any who desecrates this burial ground’_

She gave herself a few more moments to be content in her work, and then went to find a ship to Kulea.

* * *

When his _Elti_ returned to the Lilac Dawn a third time from Honalee, after the funerals of Ly Erg and Odile von Rothbart, the first thing she did was declare the incorporation of her disparate holdings into the _Groβjagdsreich,_ effective at sunset on the last day of the month.

Untermarschall Agresta had done her poll, but _Elti_ hadn’t even looked at the numbers before making the official announcement, and that worried Nikolaus.

“It is because Ly and Odile got killed,” _Dyadya_ Vanya explained to him. “The _Distawydwr_ and whoever they are working with surprised us once with the first attack and a second time in Vaduz. It is a show of strength. Your _Elti_ is saying that all they have done is forced us to become stronger.”

Incorporating was going to cause a lot of work over the next few weeks, but all in all Nikolaus thought that they’d gotten a better deal out of it than the UN. The murder in Vaduz had shaken Earth a lot, and now the member states were pulling the joint army apart between them, each convinced that the others would overlook something and lead them to ruin the _next_ time the dead zone had a surprise for them. The _Groβjagdsreich_ wasn’t fielding an army, but they’d have marines and a navy, and the planets could have their own volunteer forces to stop landing parties. That could be enough.

The problem they _did_ have was actually the Jäger.

A group of them came to Atarah, most loudly General  Eisenhart from Brioclite, who spent three whole hours arguing with people about why they should be fighting a war instead of serving as police, and if the Hunt wasn’t going to fight than why couldn’t she get dispensation to join the war _herself?_

“You can demote me back down to Offizier!” she ended, yelling at _Elti_ as she stormed out the door. “Hell, you can strip me of _all_ my ranks! But we should be _fighting, sir!_ ”

The few Jäger who wanted to get involved personally in the war, or who thought the Hunt should be taking a more proactive role, had an unfortunate point. One of the Department Leutnantkommandanten who’d come from Haero to see the Jagdsprinz made it once General Eisenhart had left.

“Everyone is taken off of their posts and garrisons when a Hunt is called,” they said, sitting unobtrusively in the seat in front of his _Elti_ ’s desk. “Jagdsprinz, we have to abandon one duty to do another, now, to satisfy our oldest directives. How is letting some Jäger leave their assignments to join an army or the _Reich_ navy any different?”

That night, after dinner, Nikolaus found her writing at her desk.

“It’s a letter,” she told him when asked what she was working on. “To Odette. She’s still grieving, for her parents and the position she had to give up, and I thought it would cheer her up. She knows she did the right thing in abdicating- but she’s still been raised since birth to be a Queen.”

Nikolaus looked at the first sheet. It started: _‘To the Lady of Graig Bryn Du’_.

“She’s on her estate?” he asked. “I thought she was missing. I know she’s on long-term leave from the university.”

“She’s not on her estate,” his _Elti_ said, pressing the pages to a paper sheet-sized mirror. When she pulled them away, the letters had vanished, magically transferred to blank papers kept wherever the other mirror this one had connected to was. “She was going to go back to the university, but I thought it was safety concern, so I convinced her to go into hiding. She’s under Hunt protection somewhere safe.”

The next day started with a particularly long and patience-trying meeting in one of the Lilac Dawn’s conference rooms, some members of High Command and representatives from all the Hunt planets they could get in contact with, on the subject of the _Groβjagdsreich._

“No I do _not_ need to calm down, Marschall Braginski!” she snapped at _Dyadya_ Ivan. The very reasonable point that she was incorporating an empire, and should therefore be an _emperor,_ had been raised some fifteen minutes ago, but she was refusing to let go of the last vestiges of the republicanism she’d stubbornly held to for just about four centuries, now. “They’re _my_ titles, and-”

She cut herself off, and got the slightly-unfocused look that was familiar to anyone who’d been around those with personal AIs. Idunn was telling her something over their interface that was important enough to merit her full attention.

The room stayed silent while whatever information Idunn had was imparted, and Nikolaus got a little concerned when Mathan, the AI for his own planet, silently manifested himself at the back of the room.

His _Elti_ mimed grasping something hovering in front of her face and tossing it at the nearest convenient screen, the universal gesture for anyone with even a dumb motor-visual interface rig that had nothing more sophisticated than motion sensing and a wireless link-up to put something up for public viewing.

There were Jäger being killed on-screen, in the way Nikolaus remembered from the _Distawydwr_ attacks- too fast.

“The day of the attack on Griolara,” Mathan told the room. “In the Traevsabr post. I had it from Mycroft- Traevsabr’s AI- and Lana Kirkland a minute and a half ago, through Stan in Iohines who put it in a lock box drop program on a smuggler ship for Aurora in Greylea to pick up and pass on to Idunn.”  

“You knew,” the Jagdsprinz said accusingly, and Nikolaus glanced away from the screen to see that she was looking at _Dyadya_ Vanya. “The Traevsabr post was almost all human. You’re their Nation- you _knew._ ”

“I was hoping, Jagdsprinz,” _Dyadya_ Vanya told her. “That I was mistaken.”

“So then the posts on the other dead zone worlds,” she said. “And the garrisons on Ubrilles and Aphwhion and Oetrbyke.”

_Dyadya_ Vanya looked back at the screen showing the video, and his _Elti_ cursed him in the German she’d grown up with, that was too old for Nikolaus to really understand.

It didn’t take very long for the Jagdsprinz to accept being _‘Emperor of the Groβjagdsreich’_ after that.

“She is _angry,_ now,” _Dyadya_ Vanya confided to him after the meeting. “That is good. She will stop paying attention to her hang-ups. She can be reasoned with, now that she cares more about her actions than her image. We have passed the time when _‘image’_ \- at least the one she has clung too, the republican and the democratic- can be useful.Maybe she will finally learn that she can be an autocrat _and_ treat people justly at the same time.”

* * *

The UN force had fallen apart in the wake of the _Distawydwr_ in Vaduz, and the only thing she was surprised by was the catalyst. She, just as much as anyone else, had thought the problem with the Tylwyth on Earth had been mostly dealt with, and yet the _Distawydwr_ who’d been Hunted had still thought the Hills safe enough to run to and expect shelter.

What that was was the troubling question of the day, but there wasn’t time to deal with it. The UN military was more important.

Iran had been preparing for the moment when everything fell apart, and so the only difficult part about calling the group together was finding a way to get Gilbert and Ivan to have some free time that overlapped.

Gilbert was actually in charge of his own schedule, though these days that was _‘in theory’_ more than _‘in reality’_ , so it fell to Ivan to extricate himself from Griolara and everyone else to schedule time when he did or sneak away from whatever else they were doing.

Meeting was also a bit difficult, since she was on Haero and Yao was on Shariya and Ivan was on Griolara and everyone else was on Earth, but they all came to Haero, since that was where the CSC was and having business there was a convenient story.

They met in the rooms she’d been given, under an atmosphere of restlessness and dissatisfaction.

“I have an hour, at most,” Ivan told them when he arrived. He’d shown up last, since it was easiest for him to travel, with his access to the World Gate. “The Jagdsprinz is displeased with me, and I have had to inform her that we-”

He nodded to her.

“-are meeting. I have let her assume that it is over matters of the United Nations’ military forces’ inability to function, which is not a lie.”

   “I’m glad I don’t have your job,” Cuba said. “I was never very good at this dissembling stuff a lot of the rest of you did. Do.”

“ _Nia’s_ mad at you?” Gilbert said skeptically. “What, did you imply you didn’t mind spending time with me or something?”

“Not everything is about you, General,” Ivan told him. “We received… I had known since the first appearance of the _Distawydwr_ that the reason we were not hearing from the garrisons and postings in the dead zone was not the fact of the dead zone, but rather that they had all been killed. I did not tell the Jagdsprinz this for fear of pushing her not into anger which can, with some care, be redirected to serve as an impetus for action, but into blind rage where unfortunate choices would be made. And then I hoped that I was wrong about feeling my people die, so that I had something to tell her should it ever come up.”

“So much work to tell a simple lie,” Yao said. “Was it really worth it, Ivan?”

“She can deny that she is being managed by me so long as neither of us never say out loud that is how we work together,” Ivan said. “So yes- every lie I hide with a certain selection of the truth and manipulation of the details _is_ worth it. I still remember what she said to us when she killed Venice in Geneva, and as Jagdsprinz she had every reason to have me killed and none but her own desires and some small measure of ruthless practicality to give me a chance to keep living and do some _good_ with my life. I owe it to her and myself and my people to keep her as- as _well-supported,_ and _cared for,_ and _helped_ as possible!”

Iran was rather proud of the memory for and attention to personal details that she had developed over her long life, but she was as susceptible as the other Nations- almost all of whom had fallen out of contact with him after he was no longer Russia- to forgetting that Ivan felt _strongly_ about his position and his Prince.

Yao made soothing, calming noises at his old neighbor.

“So how’d she find out?” Cuba asked.

“We had a message from the dead zone, passed along by the planetary AIs from Lana Kirkland, that contained surveillance footage of the attack on the Traevsabr post and a number of photographs from later.”

“You recruited the AIs into a spy network?” Gilbert asked, sounding a little jealous that _he_ hadn’t done that first.

“No,” Ivan told him. “They do it for Lana Kirkland, who looks for János Héderváry.”

“Oh, so we’re fighting the damn _Tylwyth,_ and you went and fucking _lost_ most of our _strongest,_ _most experienced,_ and _trusted_ sorcerers _behind enemy lines?_ ” Lovino snapped. “ _Great fucking job;_ good to know the Hunt’s keeping up its standards.”

Ivan was slipping back into the emotional state on the borders of snarling anger again, and so it was time to intervene and end the conversation before this turned into another, more contained UN meeting instead of a problem-solving group.

“The naval ships are on schedule for development by Venice, and others by the Hunt- the _Groβjagdsreich,_ rather, though it may not _quite_ be official yet- on Uaclleon, and I have heard good things of the progress being made in the Workshop for further development. Is there word yet from the Jagdsprinz on the landing forces she promised to provide?”

“The _Drakräder_ who still live have been called together,” Ivan said, grudgingly giving up the impending fight with South Italy. “There are many huldrene who have presented themselves for training, and no few humans or other Honalenier. We have Tylwyth volunteers as well, both to provide practice targets _and_ to learn the trade.”

Good humor suddenly returned, and he grinned.

“The retired _Drakräder_ were _very_ scandalized, it was quite amusing. We also have some Jäger who are chafing to leave police work and avenge the Hunt’s fallen in the dead zone, or fulfil their duties to ensuring peace and enforcing the Jagdsprinz’s Pact rather more _directly_ than life in the posts usually does. The Jagdsprinz has promised them places in the landing parties, to learn some from the _Drakräder_ and to act as one or two-person kill squads. General Eisenhart was most pleased with the arrangements, to give you a better idea of what to expect from your space Marines.”

“I thought we weren’t calling them that,” Cuba said.

“Attempting to defy a tradition of science fiction terms in the name of _‘professionalism’_ will make the United Nations look like fools,” Ivan said. “They are space Marines. They can be called _‘advance landing forces’_ in the official paperwork if people are so stubborn. But they are space Marines.”

“Everything is in order,” Iran said, trying once more to divert the discussion back to true topic. “Except that, currently, we have the means to _get_ the army to where it needs to be, and provide it the proper _support_ that it needs- but _no **army.**_ ”

“I upheld my part of the arrangement,” China said. “I have fifty thousand soldiers on Shariya ready to be redeployed anywhere else in the Inner Orion section in the event of another attack, and the rest of the army has been mobilized. It’s everyone _else_ who are holding us up.”

“And we are here today to begin solving that,” Iran reminded them all. “ _I_ have a suggestion, but if there are other ideas?”

She looked around the gathering, giving everyone a few moments to collect their thoughts.

“I don’t know why the hell they thought this was ever going to work anyway,” South Italy said. “International cooperation is a fucking mess. It’s easier now to _enforce_ it, but that doesn’t mean they’re actually any _good_ at it- especially when it’s about fighting.”

“Besides that,” Cuba said. “When’s the last time anybody actually _fought_ a war, huh? I _know_ my _‘army’_ , generals down to new volunteers, is shit. None of them have ever been in a real field engagement! The last shooting war was- what, it’s 2432 now and that mess with Greece ended in 2312-”

“2309,” South Italy corrected him. “They started shooting at each other in 2307, stopped in ‘9. Just didn’t manage to sit down and talk without fucking knifing each other over the table until ’11.”

“That’s one hundred and twenty-three years since the last time an army saw action,” Cuba continued, having adjusted his math. “And it wasn’t even exactly an army, it was the Hunt with some Peacekeepers and a couple dozen foreign volunteers with police experience. It was the Greeks who’d been the ones shooting, and that’s still five generations ago. They’re all trying to command armies out of books, and what happened in Vaduz isn’t in any books. _That’s_ why they freaked out enough for it all to fall apart.”

“We need more centralization,” Iran said. “While also having less.”

“You haven’t got a suggestion,” Gilbert said, a little suspiciously. “You’ve got a full-fledged _plan._ ”

“In fact,” she told them. “I do.”

* * *

They waited until a few hours after dark to leave their hotel room and go back to the town square. For real, actual planning, they should have left things a few days to work out the patterns of movement and what Hafen Matlock was usually like at different hours of the night and also to find out if there was a particular _reason_ everyone was scared of the dark, here.

But none of them could just leave Reut up there. None of them actually knew her, but she was a Nation, _Razanás,_ and they were Jäger. It was their duty.

Domdruc came out of cat form to use one of his knives on the ropes, and they encountered their first problem.

“They’re _magicked,_ ” Domdruc said in disgust when the ropes kept turning steel. They let Rosario have a go at the enchantments, but what he could do just wasn’t the right sort of thing for the job they needed done.

Instead of quickly cutting the ropes and being done with it all, they had to pick at the rope knots. It was relatively easy on the ropes holding her arms out- once they took the stakes up, the knots weren’t held taunt any longer and they had room to untie them. But the ones around her shoulders holding up to the pole were harder to deal with.

The _Lygriwr_ had made it deliberately difficult to get her down. The best they could come up with was Domdruc hiking Reut’s legs up around his waist and doing his best to push her up, supporting her body weight so it wasn’t all on the ropes, and then Emma got up on Rosario’s back so they could reach the ropes and tried to undo the knots in the darkness.

Domdruc was supporting Reut not because he was the most physically strong of the three of them, but because of the group he was the one who had to have the fastest reaction time when dealing with Tylwyth and _Distawydwr,_ so he couldn’t be supporting anything he couldn’t drop in a hurry.

The good sense of this was shown when Emma was still trying to figure out the knot. Someone was trying to walk quietly on the pavement of the square, but they weren’t doing it quietly enough. Domdruc heard them coming, and in perhaps three seconds flat had dropped Reut, pulled his shortest knife, and gotten himself into the intruder’s personal space, knife against their throat.

“Human!” the person said, quiet but terrified. “Human, human!”

Emma and Rosario had disentangled themselves as soon as Reut’s body had gone heavy in the ropes again, and they had gotten close enough to hear the protestation.

“Rosario,” Emma ordered quietly, and he raised a hand, cupping his fingers around a tiny flame to give them enough light to see the person’s face.

It was a woman, eyes blown wide in fear from being held at knife-point and now from the sudden light. She was starting to tear up, as well, Emma could see- but from the light or the emotion, she had no idea.

“Jäger?” she whispered, a fragile hope in her tone.

The men looked at Emma, and she took a minute to consider it. They were supposed to be undercover, but this was Hafen Matlock, a Hunt town on a Hunt planet.

“Leutnantkommandant Miccichelo,” she told the woman. “Intelligence and Internal Affairs.”

“Thank God,” the woman said, eyes closing briefly in relief. Her voice was hoarse, and tears leaked out, silently. “I- I’ll get you a stepladder.”

It was much easier to deal with the knots when she had stable footing and her partners to guard her, and it was fifteen minutes past midnight when Domdruc and Rosario caught Reut as she started to fall from the pole.

“Here,” the woman told them, picking up the stepladder. “Maintenance room, in the basement of the town hall.”

They hadn’t given much thought to where they’d put Reut while she healed- their hotel room was the only private space they had, but this was closer, and there was an ally to help them.

The woman actually had the keys to the town hall, and let them in a back door, and down a hall to a surprisingly large room filled with cleaning supplies and tools. She put the stepladder back in its place, and then retraced their steps to lock all the doors behind them.

“A bowl of water?” Rosario asked, to all of them generally. “I may not be able to do much healing, but I can make sure she’s awake before sunrise.”

Emma found a bucket and filled it partway full from the large industrial sink, and put it down next to Rosario. They’d put Reut out on a tarp, and this was as far as their caretaking abilities stretched at the moment.

It was disheartening, and Emma had the vague feeling her _Nonna_ and _Bisnonno_ would be ashamed of her.

“Was it really that obvious we were Jäger?” she asked the woman.

“They killed all our fey,” she said. “The fey and the fey-blooded and even the technomancers on the visiting ships, anyone who could use even a bit of magic, when they killed the garrison.”

“They killed the _garrison?_ ” Rosario asked, aghast, though he didn’t look up from his work. His hands were wet with water, slowly being tinged pink as the Nation under his hands started to bleed again as the healing progressed, newly-spilled blood diluted as he kept wetting his hands to help with the magic.

“Every one,” the woman confirmed. “And the horses, too. Then they burned the garrison.”

If the Jagdsprinz didn’t give very specific orders, Emma reflected, Árpád was going to come out here and claim blood vengeance on every _Distawydwr_ under kinright, as nephew of Arion and child of Kore Despoina, cousin or parent stand-in for nearly every horse of the Hunt.

“The Jäger-”

She didn’t seem to want to tell them.

“The Tylwyth dug a trench,” she said. “Not even a trench, just enough to clear some grass on the plains, and left the bodies out there. Our magic-users, too, after they were done with the garrison. They _held_ her there-”

She looked over at her Nation, and her voice dropped.

“She screamed the whole time they were slaughtering them, and then they strung her up on that pole. The people who tried to cut her down that night- the Tylwyth caught them and put their bodies out with the Jäger, and then stole their families away. We barely dare go outside.”

“How many died?” Domdruc urged. “The garrison- we know about how big that was, but the townspeople-”

“There have never been many of us, sir Jäger,” the woman said. “Hafen Matlock has never seen a population of over five hundred, who weren’t part of the garrison or ships’ crew on short leave. Two weeks ago we had four hundred and twenty-three residents. Now we have two hundred and nine.”

“More than _half?_ ” Emma asked, astounded. There were certainly a lot more fey and fey-blooded around than when _she_ had been young- it was a crass but true thing to say that the breeding of such people was highly encouraged, in a mostly unofficial and never explicit way- but _‘over half’_ was the sort of statistic you expected from Martigny and the surrounding towns, or maybe Venice if it had been a good couple of decades, not the town attached to the garrison nobody ever wanted to draw duty for because the majority of your job was keeping watch over disgraced and exiled Tylwyth who hated everything you represented.

It wasn’t a surprise that the _Lygriwr_ had done something. It was a surprise where and how they had done it.

The woman smiled. It was a tired sort of expression.

“Jäger make easy bedmates, by and large,” she said, and nodded at Domdruc. “Huldrene especially. There might be a lot of humans in the Hunt, but there have been less and less posted here as the decades went on, and so more and more born here with some fey in them.”

The smile disappeared.

“And the Tylwyth- they took _anyone_ with magic. There are so few of us that they know exactly who can do it and who can’t. They took the people who could only do little things, like sir Jäger’s firelight earlier; and even the humans who had found some reason to do a bit of blood magic, or had more education in magic and sorcery than the school basics.”

“They remembered the trouble their fey children gave them in the Hills,” Domdruc growled. “And they can’t abide humans with power. They want you weak and scared, ma’am.”

“Helen,” she told him. “Helen Athor. I’m deputy mayor. They took the mayor, when he tried to cut Reut down. That’s why they strung her up. She was our King, and power enough if she tried to kill anyone who came for us if she got desperate enough. So they tried breaking her, making her watch them kill us, and when they didn’t want to push it any more they tried to use her to break _us._ They come back every morning to make sure she’s still there, now, and then go away again. We’re human and they can’t stand that, but I guess it’s not enough to kill us over, just ignore us until they come up with a reason to have us dead.”

They sat mostly in silence for the next couple of hours, everyone but Rosario dozing at some point or another. It was sometime past three in the morning, but yet at the half-hour, when Rosario spoke up.

“Emma,” he said. “You know Nations. If the last thing she remembers is _Distawydwr_ killing her people, how’s she going to wake up?”

This time when he removed his hands he sat back as well, and she could see that Reut’s throat was in its last minutes of healing up.

“Go wash your hands,” she told him. “And try to go to sleep or something. Helen, Dom, you’re going to have to help me out here.”

Emma sat down on Reut’s chest, though not enough that she’d be keeping the Nation from breathing when she woke back up, and had Dom sit on her legs while she leaned forward and held Reut’s arms to the floor.

“This is a precaution, okay?” she told Helen. “I don’t know how she’s going to come out, but Nations have a kick when they’re scared or angry and it gets worse when it’s on behalf of their people. When she starts waking up you need to talk to her, try to get her calm or keep her calm. And if she does come out violent and insensate- you don’t need to be scared. You are _hers,_ and she _will not hurt you._ ”

The first indication they had of her beginning to wake up was when Reut started breathing again.

“Helen,” Emma said quietly.

The deputy mayor took a deep breath.

“Reut- _Razanás,_ it’s Helen, you’re okay, we got you down, there are Jäger here-”

She kept talking in that vein, reassurances about her situation and telling her about how different townspeople were faring, until Reut started shaking. She tried to move her arm, the one on the side of her Helen was sitting, and Emma let it go.

“Dom, get off,” she said. “She needs her people.”

As soon as they’d given her freedom of movement again, Reut shot up and grabbed Helen, pulling her against her and curling up around her.

Emma recognized the impulse. Marschall Braginski didn’t show it like that, but it was the same sort of protective drive that had made him refuse to sleep for days on end and test everything the Ramman gave them to eat for poison or drugs.

Right now, it was Rosario who was refusing to sleep.

“I’ve got another couple of hours in me,” he insisted. “And _Razanás_ Aphwhion has to leave-”

“I am _not_ Aphwhion,” Reut spat. “The _Lygriwr_ have never been mine- only Hafen Matlock.”

“Apologies,” Rosario said. “ _Razanás_ Matlock, then-”

“And I am _not_ leaving my people!”

“You can’t stay,” Emma told her. “The _Lygriwr_ will be back around in a couple of hours, after dawn breaks, to make sure you’re still up there, and if you’re not they’ll just keep looking for you until they find you again. And you can’t take them _all_ head-on, _Razanás_ Matlock. You may be a Nation, but they have limits too. You’re a space Nation, living on the lightspeed lanes- you can use the _planets_ as stepping-stones. Get out of here, go to Atarah on Griolara. That’s where the Jagdsprinz is.”

“And leave my people?” Reut demanded. “They’ll just kill them all if they find me gone! If I stay we can barricade a building-”

“And they’ll burn you out or you’ll starve or you’ll fall to more _Distawydwr,_ ” Emma cut her off. “I don’t know how many are out there, _Razanás,_ but even if they were half your size, each and every one of them would be able to do a bad impression of _Distawydwr,_ and you’d be dead before you could figure out where they’d all gone. I know you don’t want to leave- but we three could leave something, make it obvious that it was the Hunt you cut you down and not the townspeople-”

_“No!”_

“Self-sacrifice isn’t going to save anyone, Reut Beilschmidt.”

“Neither will running, Jäger.”

“I’m Emma Miccichelo,” she told Reut, and had a little fissure of satisfaction in her chest when the Nation recognized her name. “Yeah, you know me. Witchbreaker, commanding officer in the first settlement of Theiostea, Leutnantkommandant and under the direct orders of your brother. Arik and Ivan sent me, on your _Elti_ ’s orders. We’re _special operations,_ Reut, and I might not be the least bit magical but my family line starts with Cristoforo Pietri, _Civitas Vaticanae est Sancta Sedes,_ and I _know_ about Nations. So _I’m_ telling you, as the highest-ranked, duly-authorized extension of the Jagdsprinz’s authority, to _leave._ ”

For a moment, it looked like the reputation-boasting would work; but then Reut got a hard look in her eyes.

“And _I_ am _Razanás_ Hafen Matlock, King in this land,” she said. “And I will _not_ leave my people.”

“If there are only like two hundred people,” Rosario spoke up. “Why don’t you take them with you? There’s still about two hours until dawn. You should be able to get them all off-planet in small groups that way, right?”

 “The ones the Tylwyth took-” Helen started to say, carefully not sounding hopeful.

“ _Drakräder,_ ” Rosario said, pointing at Domdruc. “Professional anti-Tylwyth measure. The _Razanás_ could get him in wherever they’re keeping them, and all he’d have to do is kill Tylwyth who happen to be awake and around.

Emma looked at Dom, and the kodrene just shrugged a little, and rested a hand lightly on his long knife.

“Go to sleep, Rosario,” Emma ordered him. “We’ll wake you up when we’re done.”

* * *

Lana was not at all surprised to find that the little dowsing spell she was hiding in the glass-preserved four-leaf clover disc of the old anti-fairy bracelet her mother had given her, just barely in time to be kidnapped, had gently tugged her from the spaceport in Kulea’s capital to the local Mages’ Market. It was a good hiding place for János- he might have been _the_ Wanderer, but there was a tradition of wandering sorcerers and petty fey-blooded magicians and technomancers on temporary leave out here in the stars, following his example to learn and circulate knowledge and ideas.

She found him in a little general shop, seated a few feet behind the cashier and owner at a small table in one of the small open-front workshops these sort of stores favored, so their customers could see their orders of incense or herb or stone being weighed out and measured, or their charms renewed or repaired.

_‘Lana!’_ Blitzen whispered happily in her ear, transmitting directly from János’ interface. He wasn’t wearing the gloves, but she hadn’t really been expecting that. They would have looked like part of a motor-visual rig, attached to the planetary Internet, but those were sufficiently odd enough outside of management and government jobs to cause comment, and make people remember an otherwise unremarkable wandering sorcerer.

She had been expecting him to be using the pseudonym he traveled under sometimes, when he didn’t want to be _‘János Héderváry, the Wanderer’_ , but she didn’t have the privacy here to ask either him, or Blitzen through Peter. Thankfully, he was playing his cover identity to the hilt- he wearing the long, loose, boot-length coat of the Steppeans, in the dark pine green of Cherendai Temurev’s _gerekh,_ which he’d won the right to wear as her former student. Properly, the coat should be closed with the sash that went with it- János’ was black, with rich, delicate silver and grey embroideries that marked him as a trained sündeyalacgh- but he was playing Steppean fey, and so the coat was worn open, over the sash, which was tied like a cummerbund over more usual human fashions.    

“Béla Német khörsh gerekh narsni,” she said, as sternly as possible, using the full fake name. It wasn’t as big a lie as it could have been- _‘Béla’_ and _‘khörsh gerekh narsni’_ he had a legal right to, and _‘Német’_ was simply a touch of cleverness.

János jumped a little at the sound of her voice, and the surprised look he had on seeing her immediately started to change to guilt.

The man who owned the store looked between them for a moment.

“Old involvement, Béla?” he asked János, amused.

“ _Current_ involvement,” Lana corrected.

“Did my mother send you?” János asked. “Because I’m completely fine-”

“You shouldn’t be so quick to leave, Béla,” Lana told him, walking towards the counter. The shop owner opened the counter flap so she could come through to the back. “You miss important news that way.”

“…What sort of important news?” he asked warily.

“Important news like _‘I’m three months pregnant, we need to talk about raising children’,_ sort of news.”

The shop owner burst out laughing.

“You’re off, Béla!” he told János, waving them towards the door. “You two have clearly got a lot to talk about! Come back for dinner, and bring her if you’re still speaking to each other afterwards!”

He looked at Lana.

“Assuming you care to stay,” he told her. “You’re welcome to share his room, or we can put you up on the couch, or ask around and see who else has a wandering-space free…”

“Elaine Hackett,” Lana told him, answering his silent question.

János took her around to the side of the building, into a little alleyway, once they’d left the shop.

“You jumped a _battle line_ to tell me you’re _pregnant?_ ” he exclaimed, voice low.

“And how _else_ was I supposed to talk to you?” she demanded. “But I would have waited for you to turn back up, except _Distawydwr_ attacked with human ground forces in Atarah and tried to kill Peter and Nia thought _I_ could do something to fix him, for some reason, so I _had_ to come out here and get _you_ to do it. And yes, your mother and Árpád _are_ worried about you, worried _sick_ probably, because there are xenophobic Tylwyth running around killing Jäger left right and center!”

János stared at her for a long moment, and then reached out to grab her arm, and stepped them into some woods somewhere. Probably the local ones- most colonial cities kept large nature preserves on their outskirts.

“Give me Peter,” he said. “And tell me what the hell is going on.”

“This is _Ivan_ levels of paranoia, János,” Lana told him, stripping off Peter’s interface. “I get secrecy, but couldn’t we have gone into the end of an alley or back to your room or something?”

“I couldn’t fix Peter in the city properly,” János said. “People are used to a certain level of magic now, with HábeTech and their competitors and wandering magicians, and a Mages’ Market might hide most of what I’d care to do, but someone _would_ notice the amount of magic it takes to fix an AI. Give me the short story, okay, I’m going to be done setting this up soon and then I’ll have to ask you to go somewhere else for a bit.”

Lana crossed her arms.

“I’m not going to go running around creating new AI just because I see how it’s done, János,” she said.

“You couldn’t anyway,” he told her. “It’s a function of my born talent- I mean, I had to work on it and do some pretty esoteric things to myself-”

“I hadn’t known you’d figured out what your born talent was,” Lana said. “I’d thought you usually figured that out when you died, like Nico and destruction thing, or Arik and the instant healing. Though I guess Árpád and the horses- but did you _die_ and not tell anyone?”

“ _No,_ it was-”

He blushed- he _actually_ blushed. Lana had never seen him do that before.

“Look, it’s embarrassing, okay.”

“ _Oh_ no, Jansci,” Lana told him, sitting down. “Tell me and I’ll leave you be to fix Peter.”

“You came all the way out here to make me do that, I’m not falling for empty threats.”

Lana scooted over and leaned into him.

“ _Oh,_ so you think I won’t do it?” she asked, resting her head on his shoulder and flashing a smile, even though he wasn’t watching her. “Just to _frustrate_ you?”

János looked sideways at her.

“Actually, now I think you’re trying to distract me. The lack of any subtly whatsoever is telling.”

“Oh, I can be _extremely_ distracting,” she promised. “Just as distracting as you.”

“I’m ignoring you now,” János announced, and made a point of hunting through his mage kit. “Stop trying to pressure me.”

“But I’m _very_ good at pressure,” Lana reminded him, and thrust a hand into his lap.

“Holy _shit we are in a public woodla-_ ”

He trailed off into a whimper as she shifted the placement of her fingers and palm.

“ _Goddamnit,_ Lana!” he hissed.

“You haven’t said _‘hello’_ yet,” she told him. “Or said you’re glad to see me.”

“You haven’t either!”

“I snuck away from Nia and smuggled myself over a battle line to get here,” she said. “It’s implied.”

She paused, and removed her hand.

“You- you _are_ happy to see me, right?”

János sighed, and put an arm around her waist, gently pushing them over into the grass.

“Yes, I’m happy to see you,” he told her, settling on top of her. Lana smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Even though you’re being infuriating right now.”

“Kiss me and we’ll pretend you said _‘hello’_.”

It was a few minutes before they were done.

“I missed you,” János confessed. “And I’m sorry I spent two months in a semi-permanent Samanic encampment in the middle of nowhere on Shuonis.”

“Oh, _that’s_ where you were,” Lana said archly. “See any ghosts?”

“No, but I met a couple of people calling themselves shamans who _clearly_ had no idea what they were doing we had to chase off. Besides them, it was pretty good. The core group are some people doing really interesting things- there’s a couple of Tengriists, some Uralic neopagans, a mixed bag of native North American traditions, and three or four fey sorcerers who focus on blood and soul magic. Me and a bunch of other sündeyalacgh who were there temporarily shared stories. A couple of kümecgh from the same _tsergiin_ as them stopped by for about a week. They were nice. Oh, and we even got a Disrägner come through, one of the properly-trained ones! She came all the way from the Jägerskov to track me down and we spent a couple of days talking about exorcisms and bindings and having friendly arguments about the prevalence of malicious spirits. And there was a Christian mystic who wanted to talk about demons.”

Lana freed a hand to touch his cheek.

“Did that go okay?” she asked, a little concerned.

“Yeah,” János said. “He knew better than to ask for magic specifics, he just wanted some details about the House and whatever I cared to tell him about demons’ effect on souls. But mostly we just talked about human nature. He thought I might have some useful insight, being, you know, really old. I shared some things Cristoforo has said to me before, he was _really_ happy to hear about that.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” Lana told him. “So how’d you figure out your born talent?”

János dropped his forehead to the ground beside her head and sighed.

“I was doing it before I knew what I was doing,” he told her. “I can animate things. I was making origami animals move around, taking a couple of pebbles and making tiny homunculi- party tricks. When I met Kore I waltzed with her garden scarecrow to amuse her. She’s the one who figured out it was a lot more serious than that, because I got her pregnant. I tell people it shouldn’t have happened and they don’t realize that it _really_ should _not_ have been possible. The chances of it happening were… exceedingly small. But we got Árpád, and that just kind of further proved it, because they are _extremely_ magical.”

Lana stared at him for a moment.

“Your magic makes you supernaturally fertile?”

“I _told_ you,” he muttered. “It’s embarrassing. But now you know why I was so desperately enthusiastic about- uh, everything. Fertile ovaries and me have one foregone conclusion.”

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” Lana informed him. “Because this is the sort of thing you tell people _before_ you have sex with them.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to have a kid. And I _did_ promise you it would definitely happen.”

“Well now I’m getting three of them, thanks to you and your overactive reproductive system.”

János’s head shot up.

_“Triplets?”_

She nodded.

“Oh God. Okay.”

He rolled off her.

“Let me fix Peter and then we can talk about this,” he said, going back to his work. “Do you know-?”

“Three boys,” Lana told him. “Unless they inform us otherwise later.”

The forest was nice enough once she started looking around- but it was still a forest, and honestly, _very_ boring.

But when she stopped to sit down on a log, she felt a bit of magic nearby, something intimately familiar to her, under the general pull János fixing Peter was exerting on the local ambient magic.

Tylwyth glamour.

She was a quarter- _Seelenkind_ Tywlyth fey, and she’d had almost four centuries of practice at glamours and illusions. She could make herself undetectable to anyone but the keenest Tylwyth sorcerer, Queen Nicnevin, or the Jagdsprinz. Any _Distawydwr_ in _this_ forest weren’t going to be leaving it.

And if she did her job properly, as the only trained non-Jäger Witchbreaker, they wouldn’t even have enough time between noticing János’s and her arrival to get curious about what was going on, elsewhere in the forest. 

   She followed the feeling to clearing in the trees, where soil had been stripped and turned over. It looked like a maintenance burning, but she could feel the illusion on it. A careful inspection didn’t turn up any person-sized illusions. The glamour on the clearing _could_ be hiding a group of _Distawydwr,_ but that would be a very _strange_ way to do it- and besides, she wasn’t dead yet.

Lana tore away the magic to find a shallow mass grave. She didn’t know the faces, but she didn’t need to know them personally to know that these were the Jäger from the Kulea posting.

She went to get János.

“Did you know about this?” she asked once he’d finished with Peter and she’d dragged him to the clearing, pointing to the dead Jäger.

“No,” he said, disturbed. “The Jäger don’t come down to the Market often- the Kulea posting only had one sorcerer, and she ordered her supplies from somewhere else. There hasn’t been anything on the media feeds about the posting disappearing, and we didn’t have any news-”

“The _Distawydwr_ attacked Atarah with human landing forces from the dead zone- _here,_ ” Lana told him. “The only reason the garrison wasn’t completely killed was because the Generalleutnant there is Tylwyth, and when they massacring the planetary government there were a bunch of visiting Nations who took the word to Nia and the Uaclleon shipyards. When I came through Traevsabr, the Jäger there were dead, too. The _Distawydwr_ had dumped them in the back courtyard of the posting offices to rot, and everyone was too scared to move them.”

“Why would they _do_ that?” János asked. “Do they _want_ to die by the Hunt?”

“A couple hundred years wouldn’t stop them from thinking of her as the _human_ Jagdsprinz, would it?” Lana said. “I bet they’re trying to make her look weak- imply she isn’t good enough for the job.”

“We should do something-” János started to say.

“If we leave them as they are,” Lana cut him off, pushing him gently away from the shallow pit. “Someone will find them, and it will get on the media feeds then.”

She didn’t quite believe herself, and János clearly didn’t either- but it _was_ a crime scene, so they left.

“I hadn’t heard anything about Traevsabr,” he said once they’d gotten back to the city, and were walking to the home of shopkeeper he temporarily worked for. “Everyone might have _known,_ but no one talked about it.”

“Mycroft has records of it,” Lana told him. “I got her to send them to Nia. If you talked to her, I bet she’d spread them around. And her siblings, too- they helped me get to you. And you should ask- who is it here?”

“George.”

“George, if _he_ has anything, and put that around if he does too.”

They got back just a little before dinner, and János properly introduced her to his boss, Ferdie, and his wife Sheila. Both of them gave him and Lana concerned looks, since they were so quiet and solemn, and János just told them it wasn’t a relationship problem, but they’d talk about it over dinner.

Back in his room, János talked to George and got messages passed to Mycroft and sent along to the other AIs while Lana packed his things up. They weren’t going to be staying here much longer.

“Lana,” he said quietly a few minutes after she’d finished. “There’s something-”

She sat down next to him on the bed and took his hand.

“We got through to Ninad,” he told her. “Aphwhion. He says- the _Distawydwr,_ they killed the garrison but they killed the people in Hafen Matlock who had anything to do with magic- _anything,_ they took the fey and the fey-blooded and dragged the technomancers off the ships in port and humans who had only ever tried a little blood magic to see what it was like and ones who were just more curious about it than the others- they’re all _dead._ And… today, this morning, they were all gone. None of the computers were ever turned on, nobody logged into the security in port or tried to send any messages from the ships- and-”

Lana squeezed his hand.

“ _Razanás_ Matlock is gone,” he whispered. “They did what Nia did to Venice, and now all the townspeople are missing and she’s disappeared. I think they’re _all_ dead.” 

“We should go down to dinner,” Lana told him, hugging him briefly. “I’m Elaine, Lana can be short for it if you slip up, you’re Béla- yeah? Let’s not blow this, even if we’re right about to bail.”

Over dinner, János told Ferdie and Sheila about the dead Jäger in the woods, and Lana played her story of _‘Elaine Hackett, fey-blooded from Briomaenides’_ as a reason to explain how she knew about news from outside of the dead zone- the attack on Griolara, and then having to smuggle herself over the border to find the husband of her children, and her passage through Traevsabr and the description of what she’d found. _That_ she fudged. She told them she’d seen the burning letters on the building, and heard about the dead Jäger out back.

Hafen Matlock she spun as a story from the technomancer on the small ship that she’d convinced to bring her from Traevsabr to Kulea, telling them that he’d taken her aside after she’d casually mentioned her fey heritage to warn her about what his ship had found when they’d tried to stop in at Hafen Matlock. A terrified port worker who’d video-called to them before they could land was invented to explain the extent of the slaughter, and explain why the ship and her crew were still around to be telling stories.

Ferdie, fey-blooded himself, and Sheila, plain human but an interested party, were understandably very disturbed.

“Why?” Ferdie asked, just venting to the air. “ _Why?_ Who would attack _Hunt_ lands? I-”

“I’m going to call some people,” Sheila said, shaken. “Béla, Elaine, do you think you could- tell it all, again, when they come?”

János and Lana definitely could, and told her so, and so within the next half-hour had told it all again to a packed sitting room.

“And the Hunt said it was _Distawydwr?_ ” one of the fey sorcerers demanded of Lana, when they’d finished. “You’re _sure?_ ”

“I have my magic from my grandfather and my mother and the man who got her pregnant,” Lana told them, honestly. “And it’s _Tylwyth_ fey blood, the full way through. The Jagdsprinz and Marschall Lord Hiruz _themselves_ said it was _Distawydwr,_ and it was Tylwyth glamour on the Jäger in the forest.”

“My father is üldrene,” the local Turājada Dhineijan priestess whispered. “Gods protect us. _Distawydwr. Lygriwr, here._ ”

“I know I said I would be staying longer, Ferdie,” János said apologetically. “But-”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “You’ve got a family to think of, Béla. I understand. I wish you luck getting out. If I can help in any way-”

János was looking at her a little guiltily.

Well- they’d lied enough already, tonight.

“We’re not going back,” Lana told him. “Not yet. I have a couple of months. We’re going to spread the word around a little before we go back.”

Definitely one of the things they were planning on doing, so more of a slight untruth than a lie.

“I don’t know if that’s brave or reckless of you,” Ferdie said. “Probably both. But I can have a letter of introduction for you, Béla, whenever you’re ready to leave. I’d done for you, Elaine, but you’ve never worked for me-”

“That’s fine,” she told him. Letters of introduction were how the system of wandering magic-users stayed working- no one could know everyone, and résumés could be difficult between planets and with magical talent and projects, and the entire magical culture was steeped in Honalenier customs. A letter of introduction from another magic-user or a priest, sealed with a bit of magic or blood from the writer as insurance, were the wandering magic-users credentials. Good personal character was taken on faith, and reputation was everything. Honor duels over slander were official discouraged, but not unheard of. It was part of the system. “Béla can secure my word, and I can demonstrate my own power myself. Though I might pretend to be human.”

“That might be safer,” Sheila said.

“We’re leaving in the morning,” János told his boss. “As soon as we can, for Algarth. It’s only the next stop over, and the Mages’ Market in Katang is so big-”

“-it’s Little Honalee, I know,” Ferdie finished for him. “I know some people there I can recommend you to, who can take care of you and Elaine. Money and place to stay- or protection, heavy-duty as it comes without getting involved with power _way_ over your head, and prices you wouldn’t want to think about.”

Lana thought that the two of them probably counted as _‘power **way** over your head’ _ for just about everybody excepting Nations, Kings, and _Seelenkind,_ with prices on potential favors to match, but Ferdie meant well, and strong allies would be appreciated.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Nikolaus woke up to a great crash from the main room of the hotel suite, and for a few brief moments was utterly terrified that the _Distawydwr_ had come back- he had to get to _Elti,_ he had to get to _Elti_ , she was Jagdsprinz but if they mobbed her it could be like Traevsabr or the meeting he’d been in and he didn’t know if _she_ would _come back-_

“ _Elti_?” a familiar voice called from the main room, and he shot out of bed.

_“Reut!”_ he yelled back. _“Reut!”_

His sister was standing by _Elti_ ’s desk with a baby in one arm and one end of a string of children clinging to her hand.

“Here,” she told him, and shoved the baby at him.

“This is my little brother Nikolaus,” she said the children once he’d taken the baby, rushing the words out. “He’s _Razanás_ Griolara, the Jagdsprinz is going to help you, I’ll be back in a minute, okay-”

She stepped away just a few seconds before their _Elti_ burst in.

“Reut said she’d be right back she brought these kids-”

The children in question burst into tears, and a few collapsed onto the carpet. Reut reappeared suddenly, with a couple more.

“I’m-”

Nikolaus could see her face as _Elti_ grabbed her in a tight hug, and saw her reconsider telling her that she was fine.

“My _people, Elti,_ ” Reut said, pushing her away. “I-”

She was gone again, and _Elti_ dashed out into the hallway, yelling: _“IVAN! NICO! DIANA! MARCELL! GET UP!”_ as she pounded on doors.

For the next couple of hours, the Lilac Dawn was the site of a refugee center as Reut brought more and more people. _Elti_ detailed Jäger to ge them downstairs and into the big ballroom, and had Untermarschall Agresta arrange with the hotel to pay for food for them, and Arik went around questioning people, reporting back in every so often.

Nikolaus managed to piece the story together from the bits and pieces that Arik got, and any gaps left by the absence of fine details was filled in by his _Elti_ ’s cold, angry expression. 

When Reut brought the last person, a shortish blonde woman, _Elti_ caught her up in another hug and held her for a few long minutes, petting her hair and whispering things to her- assurances, probably. _Dyadya_ Vanya put a hand on her lower back and just held it there, a silent presence.

“Are you,” the blonde woman said hesitantly to Arik. “Are you General Beilschmidt?”

“Yes?” Arik said.

“We’re supposed to tell you,” she said. “Leutnantkommandant Miccichelo had Reut take her and her people to Toria to _‘continue the mission’_ , and she also said we’re supposed to tell you about the foreign humans who had been talking to the Tylwyth- at the time we thought it just meant the Tylwyth might have been loosening up, but she says that it was probably more important than that-”

“Who are you?” _Elti_ asked, letting go of Reut.

The woman very nearly cowered.

“H-Helen Athor, Jagdsprinz,” she said, voice very small. “Deputy Mayor of Hafen Matlock.”

“And where is the Mayor?”

“Dead.”

“Let’s have breakfast,” _Elti_ told her. “And you can tell me about these foreign humans.”

Helen looked like she might faint, but Arik smiled and took her by the arm and gently led her towards the hallway, where they could get to the elevators and go down to the restaurant.

“Klaus, I need you to stay with your sister,” she said to him. “Could you please?”

“Of course, _Elti._ ”

“Nia,” _Dyadya_ Vanya said. “I believe it would be best if I stayed, as well.”

_Elti_ looked at him, and then at Reut.

“If you think it would be best,” she said. “I’ll have Idunn send you the meeting.”

_Dyadya_ Vanya herded them back into Nikolaus’s bedroom, and got all of them onto the bed.

Reut had started shaking at some point, Nikolaus realized as he tried to snuggle up to her. He didn’t really want to know what had happened on Aphwhion that had driven her to bring her entire town to Atarah, but she was his sister and another Nation and _Dyadya_ Vanya and Isolde and Liesl and _Elti_ had told him enough to know that it was part of being Nation to be there for the other ones when something terrible happened, personally even if you couldn’t do it politically.

“I’m going to die,” Reut whimpered.

“What?” Nikolaus asked, alarmed. “No, no you’re not!”

“I am,” she insisted. “I am I am I _am_ \- half my people are _dead,_ Klaus, and- and they can’t go _back_ now so they’ll have to go somewhere else and everywhere else already _has_ Nations and they’re going to turn into _someone else’s people-!_ ”

“There’s plenty of space,” he told her. “You can go settle another town, stay off by yourself-”

“It won’t _work,_ ” Reut said. “They’re not- it’s ridiculous to give two hundred people their own country, they’re just going to be resettled somewhere where _Elti_ can help them out easily- they’ll go to Nienrade, _Elti_ will send them to Nienrade, and they’ll turn into _Johanna’s_ people and I’m going to _die-_ ”

“No- no _Elti_ will-”

He looked to _Dyadya_ Vanya.

“She got _you_ a new position she can get one for Reut-”

“There was a vacancy and I was uniquely positioned to fill it,” _Dyadya_ Vanya told him gently. “It is not a repeatable circumstance, Nikolaus.”

“But she _can’t_ die.”

“Every Nation dies, Nikolaus,” _Dyadya_ Vanya said. “But at least you children know what becomes of you, after, and go with no great sins on your souls. I have known many now dead who could never have had that opportunity.”

* * *

On the face of it, her plan for the army was simple. The countries could not agree- so the Nations would _make_ them.

She had divided Earth into sixteen regions, and, once the rest of the group had agreed to the divisions, she’d asked Gilbert to make a discreet inquiry into the military leaders of each country.

As expected, he’d sent it over to her as soon as he’d left, and Iran had not smiled in front of Yao and Ivan, who were still hanging about. They could continuing thinking that the German Lands’ spymaster had kept his military title for the authority and security it could bring, and not any real involvement- that his life was all spycraft, now. It was amused her that they thought Prussia had given up any more when he became _‘General Beilschmidt’_ than the public affectation of the name of his old kingdom.

His assessment of most of Earth’s military capabilities were scathing. She read them over with some hot chocolate and laughed at the inventive insults, gently answering Artakhshathra’s curious questions about what that word meant, and that one, and okay but how does that _work_ Forouz I don’t understand tactics, you keep talking about mountains and rivers and things they don’t make _sense_.

After her nice, leisurely evening reading and a few minutes smiling to herself over the General’s final statement: _“In conclusion, one or two of them might **possibly** be fit to command, given twenty years of re-education and subjection to a natural disaster to weed out the totally hopeless!”_ she wrote a short message back to him.

_‘But who among them could you bear to be in the company of for the duration of a war?’_

She was promptly answered by a short list, exactly sixteen names long, each from a different one of her divisions of Earth.

It was so nice to be working with someone who knew _exactly_ what was going on. 

Iran talked to people in power. She talked to the people behind other people in power.

She talked to sixteen Nations, exactly- some old, some powerful, a few both.

To them, as she had not to the humans, she made promises.

South Italy grabbed her in Ankara, after she talked to Turkey. He wasn’t one of the ones she had planned on talking to- but he was in the group. He knew the shape of her plan.

“I’m not a fucking idiot,” he told her. “And I’m not _blind._ I don’t care about me- I’m done. I’m thousands of years old and I am _done_ with all this _shit._ But you leave Feli out of this. You _touch_ him, and I set the Jagdsprinz on you. And you even _think_ about trying to undermine Nia, and you find out just how far Venice will go.”

“I’m not an idiot either,” she said to him. “The only reason Ivan wouldn’t kill me himself if I tried would be so that the Jagdsprinz could pick apart my tortured corpse at her own leisure. Venice is safe from me. I have no interest in taking territory from any Kings of Honalee.” 

“Just to be clear,” Cuba said when she paid him his visit. “This is our coup, right? The ultimate expression of Genism, etcetera. Now that humans have gotten a chance to get used to it.”

“I won’t insult your intelligence by asking you if you know what you’re doing,” India told her when she came to him. He was the last. “Because I know you know _exactly_ what you’re doing.”

News had gone around the Nations from the ones she’d talked to, specifically, by the time the announcement was imminent, and Kyonig actually came to see her.

“Who gave you the right?” she demanded, stomping around in Iran’s sitting room on Haero. “You’re just going to _pick and choose_ who wins? Who gets the power? How _dare_ you- how _could_ you?”

“It’s called _‘having authority’_ ,” she told Kyonig. “I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize it.”

Artakhshathra actually manifested himself when Kyonig left, and sat cross-legged at her feet.

“I don’t understand, Forouz.”

“You’re very young still, Shathra, even for an AI,” Iran told him. “Nadya is angry because she did not get into politics when she should have, or in the right places. She has been left behind, and no one at the top cares for her enough to pull her up.”

He tilted his head.

“But all you’re doing is getting an army together,” he said, puzzled.

“And there are only sixteen countries who are contributing military leaders to them, and most of them are responsible for a number of their neighbors’ contributions. The Nations of those countries- or their duly-appointed representatives- are to organize and coordinate war efforts Earth-side. That is Nations in charge of other Nations, and Nations having more power over government on a larger scale than has happened before. Power, once exercised, does not just go away. This is an advantage that will not be easily lost, to those who get it.”

Artakhshathra thought about it for a few minutes.

“So you chose the generals,” he said. “And that means you chose the Nations who get power. And Kyonig isn’t one of them, so she’s upset, but-”

The earnestly-worried look he got when he was concerned about something was almost as endearing as the wide-eyed alertness in the midst of a flurry of questions.

“-you assigned one of the Turkey’s generals to stand for Western Asia,” he said. “Not one of _yours._ So you’re hurting yourself, so why is _she_ angry? You’re not doing it for yourself.”

Oh, he was _precious._

“Shathra, look where I am,” Iran told him, and spread her arms to encompass the whole room. “Haero, as _Razanás_ of Earth and humanity. I love my people, and I love my history, but I have more out here than I could _ever_ have there. I am the eldest of the Nations, who has lived through more indignities at the hands of time and civilization than any other of our kind. I am _owed_ respect and power, and now that I have a chance at it, I will take it. If rearranging geopolitics to my advantage is one of the steps, then I will take _pleasure_ in the necessity.”

“But your generals-”

“I had my general decades before János Héderváry had even thought of working on digitally-based sentience, my child, and the price of his alliance has been the same for the last seven hundred years.”

The next day, Gilbert Beilschmidt was named the new General of the United Nations’ Combined Forces. When he arrived on Haero, she received him in her rooms, greeting him with an outstretched hand.

He took it, firmly, but didn’t shake. They didn’t need to.

“If we finish this,” he said warningly. “And Dietrich doesn’t come through-”

“Bring me my Empire, General,” Iran told him. “And when this is over, Dietrich will have Europe, and you will never have to worry about the security of the Nation of the Germans ever again.”  

* * *

“We couldn’t just end up rooming with _any_ old cultists, could we?” Emma hissed in Italian once she and Rosario had shut the door of the basement suite they were renting behind them. “ _No,_ we had to room with Honalee Pagan cultists!”

Well, _‘renting’_ wasn’t exactly correct. They _did_ have some money to their name, but they didn’t have actual jobs here and no way to continuously make rent payments.

They’d come to Algarth after a fruitless time on Toria that saw their money store go from _‘reasonable’_ to _‘worryingly low’_ as prices rapidly rose in response the trade disturbance caused by the dead zone. Algarth was the planet where the war refugees were being housed- and right now, the three of them counted. Their banks were on the other side of the dead zone line, as were their homes and jobs, so the newly-convened International Republican Councilhad owned up to their role in this and got a listing of households on Algarth who were willing to take people in.

It was the only way for Emma and Rosario and Domdruc to get by with their money, so Rosario had registered them under their fake identities and the IRC had given them their housing assignment, with one Adanna Rios, resident in the capital city of Katang. The refugee program had rankled at Emma since the beginning, before they’d learned anything about their housing assignment- enemy governments weren’t supposed to be _reasonable_ and _responsible_ about what they’d caused, they were supposed to be _villains_.

“We are _living_ in a _cultist commune,_ Rosario!”

Adanna Rios was only the official householder. It was a very nice house, three stories including the basement sharing six bedrooms among them, at the edge of the capital where it backed into unclaimed forest.

But that sort of space was what you got when you had five people contributing the total household income.

Adanna had the master bedroom to herself, and the other two original bedrooms of the house went to Garen Cižek, a single father, and Haylee Nathaniel Brannon, who was living here while he went to college because these were _‘his people’_. Garen’s teenaged daughter Diodrie had the converted bedroom, and Joy Sturr had been moved out of the basement and into what Emma thought, having been shown it on the tour of the house Adanna had taken them on, was probably a walk-in linen closet with most of the shelves taken out.

“Joy’s a bit of an ascetic,” Adanna had assured them, when Rosario had tried to apologize for taking up space. “She’ll be fine, this gives her an excuse to camp out more.”

“If you’re worried about your spiritual health, cousin,” Rosario told Emma as he started to unpack. “I’m certain there are Catholic churches around, and if you want something in here it shouldn’t be hard to find a crucifix or a picture of a saint or something. Pagans are usually pretty relaxed about living with other religions, I don’t think they’ll mind as long you don’t try to be rude about it.”

On _‘rude’_ , he gave her a meaningful look.

“You’re not at all concerned about how awkward this is going to be?” she demanded. “You _saw_ that altar room!”

The altar room was on the first floor, next to the kitchen, and Emma wasn’t sure if it had been an original room in the house or if the pagans had had it built in. It was a pretty room, large enough to be a small bedroom, with the altar placed under the single, large window.

Rosario shrugged.

“You get used to Honalenier Pagans when you live in Martigny awhile- and I mean _actually_ in Martigny, not in the Jagdsberg, because the ones who aren’t fanatics about it _do_ actually respect that we live and work up there and don’t appreciate them hanging around contradicting _our_ religious beliefs. I mean, they show up sometimes because they want to go through to Honalee, but you have to _look_ for them. But mostly they stay in and around Martigny. I know they’ve got a grove shrine somewhere up in the mountains-”

“Rosario they worship the _Kings!_ ”

“Not _really-_ ”

It had certainly looked like that to _her,_ seeing what was up on the altar. She wasn’t an _expert_ in it or anything, not the way it looked like _Rosario_ was, but she knew the general idea of things from the information that got passed around between the Jäger.

Honalenier mysticism was one thing, Honalenier sorcerers used it as the basis for ritual magic and other Honalenier magic-users of different sorts found it useful as well; and of course the first human- _Seelenkind-_ sorcerers had learned a lot from Honalee, so a lot of fey sorcerers and fey-blooded humans had affinities that lined up with Honalenier mysticism as well. Even the eclectic sort of human folk magic practitioners, who didn’t have any magic of their own beyond what they were willing to shed blood for, or pay for magically-imbued components by others, tended towards it as well.

The problem was that far back in the day, when Emma’s father was still a teenager, the larger pagan community had finally managed to settle down into a couple of camps over the issue of how Honalee related to their religious beliefs. The biggest camp at the time, whom Emma had lived through the decline of and sorely missed whenever pagans came under discussion, were the ones who held that Honalee had nothing to do with human religions despite some superficial resemblances and pagans and Honalenier should just leave each other well alone.

The second camp had stayed pretty steady in percentage of the pagan population through the centuries, and Emma was willing to live with it. These pagans held that there had been some sort of resonance between Earth and Honalee before the two had joined in Martigny through magic or the universe, or a higher or most abstract divinity or _something;_ and so the similarities had some real religious merit and there were things to be learned but though the Kings of Honalee were _similar_ to pagan gods they _weren’t_ pagan gods- except for maybe Ereshkigal, who seemed pretty god-like even to the notoriously godless Honalenier.

The idea of similarities caused by resonance was actually an accepted theory in modern sorcery, and had been around as an idea since its beginnings in the Correspondence Circle between the magic-using _Seelenkind_ and magically-practicing Nations. Nico Agresta had actually been the one to explain it to her, and if the General der Zauberen thought it was true then Emma was not going to argue with him.

But the _third_ camp, the type of people they were currently living with and the group that had consistently gained more and more adherents- even casual ones, who just honored this particular pantheon while dealing with other deities on a more regular and personal basis- as successive generations had decided that it was strange and wrong to divorce paganism from Honalee; and Emma was _not_ pleased by it.

   “There’s no _‘not really’_ about it!” she argued. “Their High King is _explicitly_ the Jagdsprinz- your great-aunt, Rosario, the Catholic one who built a church to thank God and St. Michael and St. Mark for helping her kill Mephistopheles, _our boss!_ It’s _weird_ and they’re _wrong_ and _you_ _know it._ ”

“I would claw them for sacrilege,” Domdruc said unexpectedly, and Emma and Rosario both looked over, surprised. He’d changed form to briefly join the conversation, hiding between the two narrow beds so no one coming in the door could see him. “But they’re giving us a place to stay, so I have to be polite.”

He went back to being a cat and stretched out in the sunniest spot on the bed, because he could.

“They’re not worshiping my great-aunt,” Rosario said. “They’re worshiping the Jagdsprinz, and some of other Kings. We make the distinction between person and Nation, and they make the same between the people the Kings actually are and the power of their positions. So what if they think that the Jagdsprinz existing just proves that humans worshipped Cernunnos and-or Gwyn ap Llud out of a mangled message they received through magic somehow, or that Persephone is really Kore Despoina, or that humans’ Arianrhod and Amphitritre and Nicnevin were pale imitations of the real people? It’s spiritually fulfilling _them,_ and they’re not causing trouble for anyone else.”

“But they’re _wrong._ ”

“And you’re allowed to think that, but right now they’re guesting us, so leave them alone.”

“I’m not going to violate Hospitality, Rosario,” Emma said, annoyed that he thought she’d _actually_ let her complaining leave the bedroom. “I _know_ better.”

They wandered out to the kitchen once they’d finished unpacking, with vague intentions about helping with dinner. Garen and Diodre were there already, starting some food, and the room was just big enough for the four of them to be able to move around without getting in each other’s way.

“We usually pipe in some news streams when we do this,” Garen said. “Would you mind-?”

“Nope,” Emma said.

The news stream was, unsurprisingly, from Little Honalee’s community site. There was some news of sales, some mentions of job vacancies of both the more permanent type and those reserved for wandering sorcerers, discussion of upcoming scheduled talking-tour visits and events, reminders about religious observances-

“Wait,” Rosario said, pausing when the newscaster read out an entry for _‘High King’s May Day, sure to be just as big as ever, come-all rules in effect as always’_. “That’s _here,_ right?”

“Well, out back,” Diodre said, pointing out the window to the woods. “But yeah, we _always_ host May Day and Samhain. There are other celebrations, but the High King’s is the only one with come-all rules, and who’s going to potentially offend Him by not coming?”

“It’s one of the big community events of the year,” Garen continued, showing his greater grasp of observational skills by smiling at Emma where his daughter had ignored her. He’d probably noticed the second of reaction she hadn’t been able to hide at her use of capital-h _‘Him’_ being used for anyone but God. She’d tried not to- she _could_ be polite, Rosario!- but she hadn’t been expecting it. “Even a lot of the Honalenier-raised fey come, since it’s so much of a social gathering. The Turājada Dhineijan usually come, and some of our monotheists and agnostics. I suppose we probably get atheists as well, but I don’t know any of those. Anyway- it’s come-all rules, and you’re our guests, so you’re invited.”

“I’d like to come,” Rosario said. “Thank you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Emma said, after Rosario _looked_ at her.

“You don’t have to,” Garen told her amiably. “No pressure.”

The news stream had moved through most of the municipal news while they’d talked, Katang’s record of crime and community for the day, and it finished up a report about one of the local museum’s special exhibit for the upcoming month to move into the larger world of planetary and international politics. They spent most of the time talking about the rising prices of just about everything, with special focus on magical supplies- the more specialized things, imported from Honalee, were limited in supply to whatever the shops already had. There was some sort of community council meeting being held to decide how to handle the issue, apparently.

After the financials, they started talking about the International Republican Council, and Garen again demonstrated matured social skills and properly-developed emotional sensitivity, because he asked them if they were okay with listening to it.

“I don’t know,” Emma told him truthfully. “What are they going to be talking about? Because if it’s the murdered Jäger, I don’t want to hear about it.”

They’d been on Toria a few days, but they’d worried about their money and trying to find out what had been done with the bodies of Toria’s Hunt post, rather than listening to the news. They’d found out about the refugee program because the government had sent people around to all the hotels and such to deliver the information to anyone who’d gotten stuck behind what _they_ were calling the _‘trade and communications embargo’_.

She might be disdainful of this _‘embargo’_ and think that calling themselves _‘Republican’_ was trying a little too hard to look legitimately democratic- a highly-suspicious move even if she _hadn’t_ known what was going on with the _Distawydwr-_ but if they were just going to be talking about refugee resettlement or what they were planning to do about alleviating prices or something, then it would be fine, and they probably needed to know that information anyway.

Garen and Diodre stared at her, and suddenly Emma had a very bad feeling.

Diodre switched off the news feed.

“ _What_ murdered Jäger?” Garen asked.

Emma glanced over at Rosario, and saw that he had a shocked expression that probably matched her own. How could people _not-_

“On Toria,” she said. “All the Jäger on posting there were killed. From the Oversight Commissioner down through the post security.”

These were Honalenier Pagans, shouldn’t they be on top of this sort of news? There wasn’t any way to explain how they’d been on Aphwhion, and it was understandable that people hadn’t heard anything about _that,_ but-

“Hafen Matlock, too,” Rosario added. “I talked to someone on the trip over who said they heard crewmen talking about it in the refugee port on Toria.”

Oh, that was nice improvisation. She should have thought of that.

“The entire garrison, and most of the town, too,” he continued. “Anyone who had or could do magic. They said the Tylwyth did it.”

“I bet they were Turājada Dhineijan,” Garen said uncomfortably, after a minute. “They still tend to blame Tylwyth whenever something happens.”

“No one would attack the _Hunt,_ ” Diodre protested. “They were probably- pulled out, or something, because of the embargo and the independence resolution.”

“The _what?_ ” Emma demanded.

“Uh, the thing where they don’t want to be part of the CSC?” she said. “You know, _‘puppet of the United Nations’, ‘controlled by foreign powers’_ and everything? I thought that was _everywhere_ in Further Space.”

“We’re from _Naples,”_ Emma told her.

“Oh,” Diodre said, and went a bit red. “Um, well. I don’t- I’m not sure they really _had_ to seize Qecarro and add it to the embargo zone for _‘bargaining power’_ , and I feel like- I mean, it’s probably illegal. But Earth- the UN, they probably wouldn’t have listened otherwise. They weren’t listening before.”

“ _What_ before?”

“All the times when we’ve said we didn’t want to do things the way Earth does, and they made us,” she said. “You couldn’t tell from the _‘Republican’_ that we don’t want to turn out like Venice or China? It’s not a democracy when you put your Nation in charge. It’s an eternal constitutional dictatorship.”

Emma could not remember ever being so- so _furious_ that she couldn’t _speak_ before. She _knew_ that anti-Genists still existed, but they were supposed to be fringe extremists, not- not the common _majority-_

“We’re _not_ anti-Genists,” Diodre said, tone getting combative, and Emma had spare a moment to check her memory and make sure she hadn’t said what she was thinking aloud. “Whenever people from Earth come through they always get so upset because they think that just because we want to keep humans running human governments we want to go back to enslaving our Nations. They deserve their rights just like anyone else, and talking to the Oversight Commissions when something’s gone wrong is part of the duty-”

“Okay, okay,” Garen said soothingly, holding his hands out to calm.

Diodre tried to overcome the frustration and stay in the kitchen, but left what she was doing and went off to her room after about a minute, abandoning her food-preparation duties. Garen took them up silently.

“You really hadn’t heard anything about it?” he asked.

“We were kind of worried about not being able to pay for food or find anywhere to sleep,” Rosario said.

  “Fair enough,” Garen replied. “But the Jäger- I bet they were too busy talking with the governments about setting themselves up, and so everybody was out, and some refugees who went for help got scared. They’re not _dead._ ”

Emma clenched her teeth. There was no reasonable way to explain how they _knew_ what had happened on Aphwhion, and Diodre had only mentioned Qecarro getting captured- maybe Ubrilles and Oetrbyke being occupied wasn’t released knowledge, either. It would certainly had made people ask why the Hunt was standing for it, and where the Jäger were. Much the same could be said for any mention of the attack on Griolara.

“Are you _sure?_ ” Rosario asked, because that’s all they could really say.

They told Dom, after dinner, to go out that night and check on the post in midtown Katang.

“Locked,” he told Emma, waking her up in the early pre-dawn light. “I’d have to break something to get in, but I looked in the windows I could, and either the killing happened deeper inside or they cleaned up after themselves. No one will notice anything wrong, unless they’re so monumentally lacking in good sense that they think that trespassing on Hunt territory is good fun.”

* * *

Mages’ Markets across Further Space tended to be roughly the same- a number of blocks lining the same second-class street, not far from high-traffic streets but far enough away to be middle-class and close to a spaceport or train station, full of mostly shops with homes over the top, some churches or shrines or temples, at least one small park, a cheap hotel or a hostel with apartment accommodations, perhaps the offices of some private magic tutor, and usually a community center with a private lending-library. The operative adjective was usually _‘cozy’_ , and it was common knowledge that the sound of a forest of wind chimes and bells meant you’d arrived.

You could also tell by the sudden profusion of fey-blooded bit-magicians willing and eager to sell cheap charms or trading tricks for pocket money, but that wasn’t as easy to romanticize.

Little Honalee in Katang covered five or six streets and a number of blocks, the only place outside of Qecarro where the magic-users had congregated together and managed to get same-site housing in the bargain. In most places, there either weren’t enough magic-users to make a dedicated living community, or there were enough of them that they were too common _to_ have their own district. Katang’s Little Honalee and Qecarro’s Sorcery Quarter had found the sweet spot between the two.

Ferdie was owed small favors by five store owners in Little Honalee, the sort of thing that would guarantee János- or Béla, rather- a job and board with room for his…

Lana wasn’t actually certain what Elaine Hackett’s relationship to Béla Német was supposed to be. As far as she knew, they hadn’t really decided exactly what their _non-_ cover relationship was supposed to be. As far as she knew János wasn’t interested in marrying her, though she’d do it for at least the eighteen to twenty-five years it would make their triplets’ legal records and paperwork easier and even propose herself, because they’d known each other for almost four centuries and they got along _splendidly_ and did actually love each other, but love and marriage were two different things. They were too serious to call it _‘dating’,_ but not official enough to say _‘engaged’_.

Call it _‘the mother of his unborn children’,_ then- but the point was they had five options they could take and all they strictly had to do was walk into the right shop and show Ferdie’s letter of introduction, with the added note that he was claiming a job for _‘Béla’_ and board for the two of them as his favor, to get established here.

The problem was that, in a place like Little Honalee, János _knew_ people. Just about everyone, magical or not, knew the name _‘János Héderváry’_ ; and he could walk into any Mages’ Market under his own name and have his word and wishes held akin to law until he decided to leave-

But unlike in most Mages’ Markets, he had _friends_ in Little Honalee.

Not very many, just four or five. But three of them owed small favors to Ferdie, and the two of them had to decide whether it was better to stay _completely_ incognito at work and temporary home and quietly inform his friends of his new name, or go to someone who knew _exactly_ who they were giving work and board but would definitely keep their mouth shut.

They’d sat down in one of Little Honalee’s small parks, with a fountain pond in the middle and one side entirely given over to an open-air lunch counter style café, where they’d bought a late, light breakfast, to talk about it.

It wasn’t quite as hard to decide that they’d feel more comfortable- and _safe-_ living with someone who knew who they were, and didn’t have to hide from at _‘home’_ , and only have a fake name around at work, as Lana had been expecting it to be. It was one thing to try to hold yourself to what you felt _should_ be the option to take, and quite another to convince yourself living lies day in and out was a good idea when the person you were going to do it with looked just as unhappy about it was you were telling yourself you _weren’t_.

It didn’t solve the problem of _which_ of János’s three friends Ferdie owed favors to choose, but it did give them more time to think about it.

Rheneas Oliver had one of the spice-and-herb shops. He didn’t keep a back room full of exotic substances like most of the others, or even have a glass-fronted cabinet that proudly displayed jars of hard-to-obtain oils and tinctures that were found in the _really_ quality shops, but he was friendly and he took orders if you needed something special- especially something no one else carried, because he had _connections,_ János among them- and could wait for it. What he regularly carried ranged from cheap to middling, all good for the price. He was respectable, and János said he liked the man for his approachability and easy personality, but he was maybe _too_ friendly to be good cover. They’d end up being social, living with him, and social meant more opportunities to trip up in lies, and more lies to tell.

Arjuna Darzi’s was a specialty establishment. They did a lot of woodworking there, though they did some metal castings and inlays as well. When you bought from Darzi, as many who had the money or saved up for it did, you were paying for the art of the piece as well as the magic worked into every layer of the work. Usually it was protection or a sort of anti-magic charge, meant to keep other magic from sticking or sinking into the piece- he sold mostly worktables and storage cabinets for a reason- but there were also things that were just art, spelled to sparkle more than natural or move about in a certain way, or change colors, or other bits of expensive curiosity.  

Working for Darzi didn’t necessarily require strength, but being employed there did mean that you had a particularly-trained level of precision and finesse. Lana wondered what exactly János had been doing for Ferdie to make him think he’d be hired for Arjuna Darzi’s workshop- not that he _couldn’t_ live up to the man’s standards, but they both ended up agreeing that Béla Némets and Elaine Hackett weren’t supposed to be _that_ good at magic.

So that left Kasumi Arevikev.

There was a store of her sort at every Mages’ Market the galaxy over, which meant it was an odd curiosity in Little Honalee, where the jack-of-all-trades stores had otherwise quickly died out in the face of a local economy that could support the diversity of specialized and specialty shops.

A sorcerers’ jack-of-all-trades store was the child of the market forces generated when your regular customers were, almost without exception, generalists. It didn’t matter the power levels- _she_ was a generalist, and János was generalist, and even Nico who usually only used his magic to kill or incapacitate people and Luisa running the Workshop and its various projects were generalists. What generalists- especially _wandering_ generalists- needed was a place where they could get just about anything they needed, and at a reasonable price.

So a jack-of-all-trades store was part supply shop, part bookstore, part repairs, and part magical workshop. You could usually buy advice, too, and trade favors; and it was common for jack stores to have a pamphlet press and good publishing software for personal treatises. They’d even take your mail.

Jack stores’ eclectic nature was further solidified by the _types_ of customers they had to serve. It was ostensibly the wandering sorcerers, but when you had fey and fey-blooded and the rarer full Honalenier just within that category; and your spiritual _and_ physical neighbors were Wiccans and pagans and heathens and Jungian polytheists and nature-worshippers and Hodiernic theists and folk traditionalists and spiritualists and occultists and self-proclaimed psychics and the variety of ethnically-based spiritual and medical practitioners loosely and collectively termed _‘shamans’_ and bathtub alchemist-herbalists and the irreligious kitchen-sink magicians who sometimes called themselves _‘witches’_ still despite the legal implications and the Small Witches who were ignored by the Hunt so long as they contented themselves to scratching at the edges of the Jagdsprinz’s Pact without ever becoming an actual threat to anyone and the array of Honalenier traditions outside of the general sorcery instruction and non-magical or non-Zauber Jäger-

Well, you had a little bit for everyone, just to stay in business.

“I was friends with Sekar, too- Kasumi’s old assistant,” János told her. “But he went off to live at the Samanic encampment. Part of what I was there for was to see him.”

“So she’s actually got a vacancy, then?” Lana asked hopefully.

“Probably,” János said. “Let’s go see.”

People stared at János as they walked to Kasumi’s store, and it made Lana very nervous until she forced herself to breathe and think about it. Béla Némets khörsh gerekh narsni walked around advertising his status as a Steppean fey sorcerer, with his magical kit slung over one shoulder and the long Steppean coat- and more than that, a _sündeyalacgh-_ trained Steppean fey sorcerer. Without an _–ev_ -ending pseudo-surname marking a dedicated teacher, he would be assumed to be self- and family-taught, perhaps with some side-tutoring in basics from someone in his hometown’s Mages’ Market. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for fey children raised by their human parents. He could also be expected, as a wandering sorcerer, to have the same knowledge base as any traditionally-trained sorcerer from his life and work experience, though it was harder to gauge with wanderers than with traditionalists.

But the specifically Steppean magical-spiritual traditions, the sündeyalacgh and kümecgh and khuvunshicgh and zayaacg, they were rare enough in the tsergiin and gerekh of the actual Steppes, much less the diaspora. They were thought of as highly magical by most, but Lana had the truth of it from János and Cherendai Temurev and others she’d known over her years of life- they were highly mystical, not highly magical. You didn’t have to have a bit of magic to become a sündeyalacgh or a kümecgh- though a certain rare temperament _was_ required for the latter- and you didn’t need very much native magic for the other two.

What you had to have in abundance was _training._ You could be… sloppy, as a generalist, and as most other Honalenier cultural sorceries; though it was considered poor form and an indication of bad training even when it wasn’t reckless self-endangerment. You couldn’t be anything but disciplined and precise with Steppean traditions, and everyone knew it.

Béla Némets khörsh gerekh narsni might have been only an average sorcerer- no one would be able to tell without scrutinizing his work. But just about everyone knew that embroidered Steppean sashes meant a trained Steppean _something,_ even if they didn’t know which color patterns marked out which sort, and that meant he was accomplished, and trustworthy- and noticeable.

They weren’t recognizing _‘János Héderváry, the Wanderer’,_ functionally-immortal _Seelenkind_ sorcerer, one of the founders of the entire field of magic and the only person in the entire galaxy who knew the secret of creating Artificial Intelligences- they were seeing a recognized, consummate professional in an uncommon field.

A couple of people tipped their heads or hats to them, and a few more actually stepped aside to let them pass, in respect.

Lana tried to relax.

János noticed, and quietly reached for her free hand. She squeezed it in gratitude when his fingers found hers, and they walked the rest of the way to the jack store hand-in-hand.

Lana liked the place instantly- the shop had one front display window, which honestly could have used a cleaning and some repainting on the old-fashioned gold lettering that told the rest of the world what the establishment was, and it was obviously a very old building, maybe even one of the originals to the area. It felt like something that could have been built when she was still in the natural age range for humans.

They didn’t go inside right away, because could see a customer searching out something on the shelves inside. János unslung his kit from his shoulder and opened it, looking around inside like he was trying to check if he needed something, or like he was looking for one item in particular- but Lana noticed how he was deliberately taking up most of the window space, and how the steely-haired, sharp-angled woman behind the counter looked hard at him for a few extra seconds when she looked up to check on her customer.

The customer left, János produced the letter of introduction from Ferdie from his kit, and they went inside.

Kasumi frowned at the letter- János was holding it out in front of him, making it clear where her attention was supposed to be- and pointed behind her.

“We can talk in the back room,” she told them, and held the swinging counter door open. “Skarloey, mind the front!”

_‘Skarloey’_ was a girl, mid-to-late teens, who shoved her way through the door connecting the store area to the workshop and stopped dead when she saw them. Lana to push down a sense of disappointment- Kasumi was supposed to be assistant-less.

“We may be a bit,” Kasumi told her, and herded Lana and János into the back room, locking the door behind them.

“Incognito, János?” she asked.

He just shoved the letter at her to read.

Lana took one of the chairs in the room while the woman read. She thought this room must be regularly used as a place to meet important buyers or clients, because it was plushly furnished and quite warm, walls painted in deep, dull red in contrast the light wood shelves and table and chair bodies. The whole place was comfortable, and she could see how it could be quickly turned into a business office by putting a tablet on the large, heavy table and using the rest of the space for paperwork, pulling the files and binders off of one the bookcases.  

Kasumi Arevikev’s eyebrows rose considerably as she reached the end of the letter of introduction, where Ferdie had added in the bit about cashing in his favor and specified taking care of Lana as well.

“There was no need for this,” she told János. “If you were so desperate for work, you could have just _asked_ me- or given up the disguise and traveled as yourself.”

“I didn’t ask for it,” János said. “He gave it freely. I couldn’t refuse without having to explain about who I was, for why I wouldn’t need a letter of recommendation to anyone, or extra assurance.”

“Ashamed of lying, Héderváry?” Kasumi asked, snorting a little.

“We’re behind enemy lines, Kasumi,” he told her. “We’re not certain it’s _safe_ to be ourselves.”

“The Republicans are annoying and I’m not certain I agree with their political fears,” Kasumi said. “But they’re hardly-”

“The Hunt posts on Iohines, Traevsabr and Kulea were killed,” Lana interrupted her. “Landing forces from out of the dead zone- the _‘embargo zone’_ \- attacked Atarah and tried to kill the garrison there. The garrison in Hafen Matlock _was_ killed, and half the town, too. Now they’re _all_ gone.”

“I’ve been here since before the embargo went into effect,” János picked up. “I’ve heard a lot about taking Qecarro, but did you know they took Ubrilles and Oetrbyke, too? When we found out about the Kulea post I asked around the AIs, and no one else saw anything, but they all say the posting offices have been digitally silent since the day the embargo went into effect, _Katang included._ It’s been something like half a month now- have _you_ seen any Jäger in Little Honalee since then?”

“They-” Kasumi said. “No; I think they’re a little paranoid but the Republicans aren’t _idiots-_ ”

“Maybe they didn’t do it themselves,” he said. “Maybe they didn’t even order it. But the _Distawydwr_ off of Aphwhion _did,_ and the two of them are working together.”

With a name like _‘Arevikev’_ , Kasumi was a traditionally-trained sorcerer, which meant she knew Honalenier history and Honalenier magics.

“There was a message waiting for us when we got here,” János told her. “Passed on by the AIs back through the path they used to get the news about the murdered Jäger to Griolara and the Jagdsprinz. Ly Erg ap Gwyn and Odile von Rothbart were killed in Vaduz at Court by _Distawydwr,_ and Odette von Rothbart ap Ly abdicated her titles and power to make Afallach ap Llud Llaw Prince of the Silent Hills and the Tylwyth Teg, for fear that if _she_ took the position that hers by right, it would incite more violence.”

“At Hafen Matlock,” Lana said quietly, watching Kasumi carefully for signs that the shock of the news was starting to overwhelm her. “The townspeople killed were the fey and the fey-blooded, and the humans that had used or knew enough about magic to use it. The _Distawydwr_ even dragged the technomancers off the ships in port to kill them, too. We have no idea where they are now; but how long before they come after the Tylwyth fey and fey-blooded? The Domdruc, their oldest enemies, and _their_ fey and fey-blooded? The Turājada Dhineijan? Everyone _else?_ We came to spread the word, Sorcerer Arevikev, and do what we could to find and properly respect the murdered Jäger, and if we have to, offer our protection and do our best to get people out over the embargo line.”

Kasumi started twisting the unnecessary letter of introduction around in her hands for a few moments, and then seemed to catch herself, and set it down on the large table to smooth it out.

“Who is this poor woman you’ve dragged along with you, János?”

“Eglantine Walker Kirkland,” János told her.

“He knocked me up so I’m not letting him wander off by himself,” Lana said, and János glanced over at with a look that clearly asked her why she had to be so blunt about it. “Don’t look at me like, Jansci, we still haven’t talked about how we’re going to do this parenting thing.”

This seemed like it was a bit of the final straw for Kasumi, because she sat down quite heavily in one of the chairs and started taking deep, measured breaths, staring at her feet. They gave her a minute.

“Your child,” she said, looking up. “Is going to be ludicrously magical.”

“Children,” Lana corrected. “Triplets.”

Kasumi looked like she wanted to comment on that, and then decided to just let it pass.

“I’ll put you both up, János, I’d never do anything different,” she told her friend. “But there’s my apprentice.”

“You took an apprentice?” János asked, looking pretty pleased. “I was wondering if you ever would, Kasumi, I’m glad you found someone. It’s the girl out front, isn’t it?”

“Skarloey, yes,” Kasumi said. “She’s some kind of fey, no one knows what. Personally, I think she’s the daughter of some fey sorcerer and a full Honalenier, given the way things started to act out. She was a ward of the state, and they’re not the best equipped to handle anything more than weak fey-blood. She was too much for them, so they came calling around in Little Honalee, and-”

She shrugged.

“But she lives here, János, and technically she’s my daughter. If the two of you are going to live here, I’d like her to know the truth.”

“I trust you, Kasumi,” János said, but it was careful and measured in a way that Lana recognized as him trying to break potentially-uncomfortable news. Her grandfather had sounded like that, sometimes. “But I don’t know Skarloey. I don’t need anything but your word from you, but from her…”

“A blood promise?” Kasumi asked.

“If you’re both willing to go that far.”

“No, it is reasonable,” Kasumi told him, and fetched a sheet of paper and pen, handing them to János so he could write his terms. “It will be a good introduction to the realities of magic, and the seriousness of being a dedicated practitioner rather than a dabbler.”

János wrote his terms out quickly, while Kasumi went to get Skarloey and tell her that a blood promise was being drawn up for her signature. He handed it over to Lana to read after he’d finished, so she could add any of her own or put in clauses that changed some of the terms when they applied to her. Blood promises didn’t have to be pretty documents- they just had to work.

The promise here was simple- not to reveal their true identities to anyone except if they said it was allowed- and the terms were likewise short and concise. Lana didn’t add anything to them.

Kasumi brought Skarloey, who looked like she was trying to reconcile both her curiosity at who they were and why they were having her sign a blood promise, and a bit of fear about the prospect. They weren’t ever properly done for something light.

“You agreed to sign this?” János asked her, and she nodded.

He took the knife Kasumi offered him.

“Then I am János Héderváry,” he told Skarloey, cutting a finger enough to make it bleed a bit. “And this is Eglantine Walker Kirkland. Here we are Béla Némets khörsh gerekh narsni and Elaine Hackett.”

He wiped the blood on the bottom of the paper and signed next to it, handing the knife to Lana. She cleaned it with an alcohol wipe Kasumi handed her, and cut her own finger, copying János in wiping it on the paper and signing her name.

The knife went next to Skarloey, and she cut herself a little too deep, not used to shedding blood for her magic, and added her blood and name to theirs.

Kasumi took the knife back and locked the paper away with Ferdie’s letter of introduction in the fire- and magic-proof filing safe where the deeds to the store and land and the personal identification information for her and Skarloey would be kept, and Béla Némets and Elaine Hackett came to live in Katang, working for Kasumi Arevikev.

* * *

_Elti_ was in a foul mood, because _Dyadya_ Vanya wasn’t letting her call the Hunt and go into the dead zone.

“ _Think_ about it, Nia!” he snapped. “We have been able to move Jäger about space with the World Gate when we are _not_ on a Hunt, but we have _never_ Hunted _across_ planets! You are not _certain_ it will work, and we are _already_ operating with more than a third of our strength _killed!_ Something _must_ be done, yes- but not if it will risk the _rest_ of our people!”

“If we _don’t_ kill them, what will they do _next?_ ” _Elti_ demanded. “They came to _Vaduz,_ Ivan! Are they going to attack Martigny? Venice? Berlin? Suppose they go to Theiostea, or Brioclite, or come back here! And if they go to the UN or the CSC- you know _exactly_ how much trouble that would cause us, so _wouldn’t they?_ We’re letting them _get away with it!_ ”

“We do not even know who they are working with! We have _no idea_ what the situation is like in the dead zone, besides that János and Lana found have each other, and Emma and the others got Hafen Matlock to evacuate! Going in without knowing what we are facing could make things _worse-_ ”

Nikolaus closed the door to his room, which he shared now with Reut, but it only muffled the yelling, and didn’t settle the unease in his stomach. It was _wrong_ for _Elti_ and _Dyadya_ Vanya to fight. _Elti_ was only supposed to get like this with General Beilschmidt, or Venice.

General Beilschmidt was actually in Atarah, now, since Nikolaus’s capital had turned into the point location of the front lines, and Nikolaus knew that part of _Elti_ ’s foul mood was that she had to _see_ him on a regular basis, now. The General had put most of the city between them, but the two of them were the commanding officers of the military forces. They’d eventually be joined by whoever Venice appointed as their war admiral, but even then that person would only be a bit of a buffer between the two of them.

Reut was sitting on the bed, just staring at the wall. Nikolaus leaned with his back against the door, watching her worriedly.

She had been right, about her imminent death, and she seemed to have accepted it, but he was still- _Elti_ was Jagdsprinz, but she’d just sat down with Reut and told her quietly that she couldn’t do anything, and she was _supposed_ to protect them-

_“They killed our people!” Elti_ roared from the main room, making him jump. “ _Your_ people, Ivan-”

“I _know_ they are my people and _I am angry too!_ But calling a Hunt is folly and I will _not_ let you do so!”

“If I decide to call a Hunt _you **will-**_ ”

“ _Will I, **Jagdsprinz?** ” Dyadya _Vanya cut her off, volume dropping. His tone- he’d never heard _Dyadya_ Vanya talk like that, like he was- _Elti_ had talked about Cassiel Navin like that. “Are you going to _order_ me?”

The room on the other side of the room went deathly silent, and Nikolaus found he’d tensed up. Reut was looking at him, now, or rather to the door.

“It’s time for you both to walk away now,” he heard General Agresta say. Nikolaus wondered when he’d come in as he felt _Elti_ storm out of the room in a stew of anger and disgust, door slamming behind her. He wondered if he should go after her, tell her that it was okay, he _knew_ that she’d just forgotten _Dyadya_ Vanya was _Razanás Wildes Jagd_ for a second because she was so _angry_ that the Jäger had been killed and _Dyadya_ Vanya was being Marschall Braginski and trying to get her to do something she didn’t want to do, and she always treated Marschall Braginski like any of the other high-ranking Jäger she’d known for ages. She felt so upset about slipping up; but she wanted _Dyadya_ Vanya to tell her it was okay, not _him._

He hoped General Agresta would go talk to her, or maybe Arik. And definitely _Dyadya_ Vanya, once they both stopped being angry.

“They’re not going to be doing anything for a while, are they?” Reut asked.

“It doesn’t really sound like it.”

“Klaus,” she said, standing. “I’m going to Oricao.”

Oricao was the capital of Ubrilles.

“I don’t have a lot of time and I should do something with it,” Reut continued. “You said Raganhar went back. That almost half a month ago, and no one’s heard anything from him. Someone should- what if he didn’t come back because they _did_ something to him? I _have_ to make sure he’s okay, and while I’m there maybe I can figure out what’s going on in the dead zone. And then _Elti_ and _Dyadya_ Vanya can stop fighting.”

Nikolaus was for anything that got _Elti_ and _Dyadya_ Vanya to stop fighting, and knowing what was going on would be good for everyone, and maybe if they knew what was going on then General Beilschmidt would be happy and _Elti_ would be able to make an actual plan and feel better and get happy again and _Dyadya_ Vanya would _definitely_ be happy because he could get to be in control of things again.

But-

“What if you get caught?” he asked worriedly. “I’m going to go with you because you shouldn’t go alone, but neither of us can really _fight_ or anything, and this more Azer’s sort of thing but he’s back home and it would take him a while to get here and we should leave before anyone notices-”

“Then we’ll ask Johanna.”

“Johanna is still following _Dyadya_ Vanya and the rest of High Command around,” Nikolaus said. “She’d tell.”

“Arik’s a spy.”

“But Arik would _definitely_ tell _Elti._ ”

“Well how busy is Katyusha?”

Nikolaus was reasonably certain that Katyusha was not _that_ busy, because he might have had the shipyards but that was the Hunt’s business and it wasn’t like he was following anyone around like Johanna, who liked getting involved in Hunt business. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she’d asked _Elti,_ at _least_ once, if she could be a Jäger.  

Katyusha was in Yesseni but absolutely _nowhere_ near the shipyards, as expected. Uaclleon was also not a place that generated much paperwork outside of shipping manifests and import-export laws, so he was also done for the day.

Well, it was really more like night now, in Yesseni, but Katyusha wasn’t asleep yet so he just walked right into his brother’s house and sat down on his couch, across from the big armchair Katyusha was curled up in by the fire.

“Kat _yuuuuuu **shaaaaaaa.**_ ”

His brother put down his tablet and adjusted his glasses, something he always did when he thought he was being bothered.

“ _What,_ Klaus?” he sighed.

“ _Elti_ and _Dyadya_ Vanya keep fighting about whether to call a Hunt over the dead zone or not and it keeps coming back to not having enough information and Reut’s going to die so she’s going to go to Oricao and make sure Ragi’s all right before that happens and I’m going with her and we’re going to figure out what’s going on in the dead zone, if we can, but neither of us know anything about fighting but _Dyadya_ Vanya taught _you_ about fighting _and_ you’re a sorcerer _and_ you’re _almost_ the oldest, only Arik and Isolde and Michele are older than you, so that means you should come with us, right, because you’re supposed to be responsible.”

Katyusha took a long moment to stare at him, then shoved his fingers under his glasses and dropped his head to sigh again, because he used drama as sarcasm.

“ _You’re_ supposed to be responsible, too, Klaus,” he said. “You’re the Nation of an _entire planet._ ”

“But you’re like three hundred years old and Reut’s barely a hundred and ten and _I’m_ only twenty-seven, Tenka. You’re _more_ responsible.”

“ _Clearly,_ because _I’m_ being dragged into this against my will and because _Elti_ will do something drastic if you two get yourselves hurt.”

“Thanks, Tenka. Now where do you keep your kit, Reut might leave for Oricao without us to see Ragi if we don’t get back there-”

* * *

India and Asian Russia were their own areas under Forouzandeh’s plan, and everyone else- the German Lands, Afghanistan, Turkey, China, Malaysia, Australia, Egypt, Ethiopia, Ghana, Angola, Botswana, Canada, Brazil, and Cuba- had regions to deal with, and if anyone else had problems with it-

_Japan,_ she thought pointedly, and deleted his latest protest about _China_ getting to take point in East Asia.

-could learn to live with it.

Things were quiet, here on Haero, now that Gilbert had gone off to handle the armies and things had settled down again some. All she really had was reviewing the status reports about the state of the combined army that got copied to her General anyway, and keeping updated on Venice and the Hunt’s progress. Ships took time to make, but Venice, sneaky little thing, was really just building more merchant ships and sticking guns on them. There were plans for larger ships, but no one knew exactly when those would be ready- but they knew how long it took to take schooners. They should have something of a fleet in the two weeks.

And of course, the Hunt already had troop transport ships of their own design, which had originally been made to carry blackjets around, but with some retrofitting could take people as well. However much the Jagdsprinz hated Venice, she certainly hadn’t inherited her subterfuge skills from _Germany._   

Downtime was fine by Forouzandeh, uneventful and restless though it may be.

It gave her time to plan.

* * *

It wasn’t as hard as they’d been expecting to go into Katang proper and find the Hunt’s post in midtown. For Emma and Rosario, it was a matter of a half-hour of a bus trip, and then a bit of walking.

The hardest part was finding some way to sneak around the back way of the post. Domdruc had been a cat when he’d done it and no one paid attention to cats, but someone _would_ notice her and Rosario just going around back. So they walked a bit past the post and then wandered into the back alleys until they got back to it.

Breaking the lock wards on the back door was just a little nerve-wracking. It wasn’t a matter of getting into the building- Rosario had lock picks and Emma knew the things to do to cancel the Hunt’s magical locks that went with the physical ones, courtesy of being a Witchbreaker- but if someone _saw_ them, well-

No one came by while they were working on the locks, and they slipped inside to begin their search.

Domdruc had been right about someone cleaning up after themselves- there was a sacked maintenance supply closet and bloody rags in the trash and basement laundry, and closer inspection of the offices showed where people had tried to fight back and caused some mess. Files had been shoved back onto shelves with no regards to the filing system, and the contents of drawers had just been dumped back in and pushed around until the drawers closed properly again.

The only things missing, though, were the bodies. They managed to get into the computer systems with their own log-ins, which was nice, and some finagling got them the internal security footage. The dead Jäger had been loaded into body bags and carried off by glamoured _Distawydwr._ They wouldn’t know where the _Distawydwr_ had gone from there without calling some of the Hunt’s Hounds in to sniff them down, or getting enough support or authority to follow a modified dowsing spell wherever it led.

Rosario copied the internal security of the attack onto his personal device and they slipped back out.

Emma was keeping look out for him as he relocked the door, physically and magically, which was why she saw the woman watching them, trying to hide behind a recycling dumpster.

She tapped Rosario on the shoulder to tell him she was going, and started to run for the woman, whose eyes widened as Emma started to charge at her and scrambled to her feet, bolting for the end of the alley and the regular streets.

Part of a Jäger’s training and regular workouts was running- fast over short distances, because you were usually riding, though Dragoner on city duty had some longer-distance running because they might have to run someone down.

But the watching woman was fast, as well, and closer to the street than Emma, so she’d shot out of the alley before Emma had gotten anywhere near her.

Emma stopped running as soon as the woman turned the corner onto the street. Running out after her would be conspicuous, and cause questions. But she’d gotten a good look at her face, and she did her best to commit it to memory as she turned around and walked back- a sort of dirty blonde, maybe with a fading dye job, brownish eyes, pale in the northern European way, kind of pudgy in the face.

“Got away,” she told Rosario. “We should leave.”

The ride back to Adanna’s was silent, and tense.

* * *

Lana and János took the day they arrived at Kasumi’s to settle in, and then the next day Kasumi sent János out to Rheneas Oliver’s store and Arjuna Darzi’s workshop on the pretext of special orders, so he could get them alone and tell him how he was in hiding and why and what he knew.

For her part, Lana went out to the cafés and the community center, and started talking to people. Casual conversations, where she could easily bring up her wandering status and say she was here with her partner, she was pregnant, oh we were on Kulea before this but I came through Traevsabr before that looking for him, did you hear what happened there?

No? It wasn’t on the news?

Well, let me tell you what someone wrote on the Hunt’s post there. I have pictures if you want to see.

Lana sowed the doubt in people’s minds, and through János’s friends telling their customers and their employees, in hushed tones and fearful confidence that they ones being told were _expected_ to break, news slowly worked its way around Little Honalee.

It took perhaps a week for Lana to hear other stories, when she went out.

A wandering sorcerer who was trying to find one of her friends, who might have ended up behind the embargo line but she wasn’t giving up hope yet, had come through five planets in quick succession, and couldn’t remember seeing any Jäger on any of them.

One technomancer, on extended shore leave while the ship he worked on stayed grounded as the captain tried to decide what to do, said the acquaintances he had in the Hunt weren’t picking up his calls.

The local Honalenier Pagans said that the refugees their local priestess had taken in had heard from talkative ship crewmen, on their way into Katang, that the Tylwyth on Aphwhion had strung up the humans’ Nation, when the embargo began.

On Atbrion, the Hunt post had burned down. The police were calling it arson, and people were starting to grumble about it- _someone_ had clearly stopped up the doors with all the Jäger inside, so why did it seem like no one was looking very hard? And there were these _rumors_ that there hadn’t been any Jäger around for the last two or three weeks _anyway-_

A fey-blood from Katang went on a weekend trip to Driothea, and came back saying he’d hung around the post there and eventually broken a back window. The building was abandoned.

Sciater, Oqiosheia, Uastraris, Aizuasleron, Iodromia, Fagantu, Vaturn, Uproise, Notov- the wandering sorcerers came and went, the ones leaving Katang taking the rumors and the news- backed by reputable residents of Little Honalee, no less- to Mages’ Markets across IRC-controlled space; the ones coming to Katang being fed every scrap of suspicion, from substantiated fact to obvious fabrication, to dwell on and let fester in their minds and hearts.

About twenty days after the beginning of the embargo, the International Republican Council called for the formation of a standing army, changing over the police officers who had been recruited into the various municipal and national services to form the core of the secret army, built under the CSC’s nose, into the officers of incoming recruits.

Lana sat out in the park and watched as the general mood in Little Honalee turned from vaguely distrustful and suspicious to suppressed, muted fear.

* * *

Oricao was an older city than Atarah, bigger and not quite so shiny-new. Huge expanses of glass and neo-Rococo had come back into style partway through Atarah being built, so it was a bright sort of place. Oricao went more in for stone and exposed chromed metal, a less-sterile sort of variation on classical minimalism. It maybe wasn’t the prettiest place, but it was a happening place, or it had been.

It was wrong to see people walking around openly armed. Jäger did that, of course, but these people were obviously not Jäger, in their patchwork but mostly-blue uniforms, and lack of knives or swords. These were the occupying forces.

They’d stepped from Atarah to the garrison in Oricao, on the grounds that they had no idea what the government buildings looked like at the moment.

The garrison _stank._

Nikolaus had never smelled rotting meat before, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that this was it.

Katyusha had them look for a room with a mirror, and ended up claiming one of the bathrooms. He sent Reut outside, to dig up some dirt, and stopped up the sink. When she came back with it, he dumped it in the sink and wet it enough to make mud, and smeared it all over the mirror, completely obscuring the glass.

“Klaus, can you get the vial of camphor oil open?” he asked. “I don’t want to get it dirty.”

Nikolaus didn’t see why his brother couldn’t just clean it afterwards, but that was just how Katyusha was. He was kind of fussy. How he lived on Uaclleon, with the near-constant rain and total lack of sun and undoubtedly pervasive and perpetual mud, he had no idea.

But he opened the camphor oil for Katyusha, and poured a little on his brother’s fingers. Katyusha wrote out Raganhar’s glyph-name as _Razanás_ Ubrilles on the mud, and then unstopped the sink, letting the tap run to clear out the basin and clean his hands.

“Can I have the bowl, Reut?” he asked, and she handed him the bowl she’d gathered the dirt in. “Thanks- stand back.”

Katyusha filled the bowl up with water, took a large step back, and threw the water at the mirror. The mud sluiced off cleanly- much more cleanly than could be natural, because not a bit of dirt was left once the bulk of the water had run off the mirror and left a dirty pool on the bathroom tile.

Raganhar was visible in the wet mirror, at a desk somewhere.

“That’s illegal, Tenka,” Reut said quietly. “Scrying is _really_ illegal.”

“But it’s not against the Jagdsprinz’s Pact,” he said. “And we’re only using it to figure out where Ragi is. That’s his home office and it doesn’t look like anyone else is there, c’mon.”

He picked his kit up off the floor, fished out an iron disc to set against the mirror and break the spell, then grabbed their hands and stepped them into Ragi’s office.

Their brother went wide-eyed at their sudden appearance, and shot up from his chair. Nikolaus thought it would be to hug them, but instead Raganhar made frantic shooing motions.

“Get out of here!” he hissed. “Get out; get out! There are _Distawydwr_ posted outside I’m under _house arrest-_ ”

“Then we’ve got to get you out of here!” Katyusha hissed back, and grabbed his wrist.

Raganhar tried to pry his fingers off.

“I _can’t-_ ”

“If it’s your people,” Nikolaus said quietly. “Reut was scared of that t-”

Raganhar’s expression went funny, in a way he’d never seen anyone look. It was a sort of resigned, angry despair.

“I’m _under_ **_orders,_** Katyusha!” he told their older brother. “If you try to make me leave I’ll have to _fight_ you; and the _Distawydwr_ will come in and then we’ll _all_ be dead!”

That froze them all.

“You can’t be,” Nikolaus said. “That’s not _allowed-_ Governor Armistead wouldn’t-”

“They _killed_ Governor Armistead, Klaus, just like they killed all of _yours!_ His daughter’s only twelve, she can’t inherit the position yet, so it’s gone to his deputy, Allan Gage. _He_ put me under orders, in front of the army command and the _Distawydwr,_ because otherwise they were going to _kill me_ the Venetian way, and- and hang me up for _display!_ ”

“They did that to me, Ragi,” Reut told him. “The _Distawydwr_ didn’t give me an option.”

“Oh, damn, Reut, I’m _sorry,_ ” Raganhar said. “I- but you got _out,_ okay, and there’s most of an _army_ here, and if I left they’d probably start _killing_ everyone.”

“They killed most of my people, too. _Before_ me. They made me _watch;_ because I’m _small_ and _weak_ and so regular binding magics _work_ on me-”

“ _Elti_ and _Dyadya_ Vanya keep fighting about what to do, Ragi,” Nikolaus interrupted her. “Can you tell us what’s going on here, in Oricao and on Ubrilles and in the dead zone, we can take it back to them and then maybe they can _do_ something- they can come rescue you-”

“It’s the _‘trade and communications embargo zone’_ from _this_ side,” Raganhar told them bitterly. “They’re trying to get me out of government but I still have to be involved with things to make them properly legal and they killed so much of the government that _I’m_ the only one left who knows most of it, anyway. There’s paper all over this damn place, I’ll- give me a minute.”

He left, briefly, through the door that adjoined his office to his bedroom, and came back with bags. He dumped them on the floor and swept a hand at the shelves and side table.

“Just start stuffing things in, there should be some useful information, and I’ll get the orders they keep passing down- _quietly,_ and then you’re all _leaving_ before you get yourselves _killed!_ ”

Reut and Katyusha started gathering things up as silently as they could, but Nikolaus stuck by Raganhar, taking the handfuls of orders and directions from the occupying forces as his brother handed them over.

“But _why?_ ” he asked Raganhar. “Why are they _doing_ this?”

“They’re scared,” Raganhar whispered to him. “I thought it was just the humans, but then Sciater came to talk to me- the humans think the UN and CSC are forcing them to hand over everything to the Nations with the way things are going on Earth, Venice and China and General Beilschmidt already have so much power and influence and every time the countries start to collapse in on each other the Nations end up with more and more control in government and then- well _you_ know the old ones, they only want to deal with other Nations! But the Nations, the ones out _here-_ they’re in on it too! They _agree!_ They don’t want any power, Sciater told me they feel like they’re being _forced_ to take on more power, and all any of them want is the laws that say they’re not allowed to be put under orders and can go to the Jagdsprinz if they are, and that’s _it!_ Most of them don’t _want_ anything to do with the government! They want to be- _lawyers,_ and teachers, and artists and cooks and accountants and _everything_ but government officials!”

 Government wasn’t really _fun,_ exactly, Nikolaus had never really _enjoyed_ himself with it the way _Dyadya_ Vanya seemed to relish making decisions for the Hunt or Liesl liked drafting policy; but he didn’t _hate_ it or anything. Making sure things were running right was… _satisfying._ Doing what he really _enjoyed_ was what free time and hobbies were for.

“Sciater _actually told me_ that it was _Isolde_ that had gotten them thinking about it, since she’s got her Doctorate and she still teaches part-time at the university and everything! He had the- he had the _gall_ to say that this was the _logical end point_ of _Genism-_ Nations being free to _not_ be Nations! Nations who could be nothing but figureheads, who were secure enough _to_ step aside and let the humans run everything without help or input or _anything!_ ”

Nikolaus could see why people would want to let others do work while they went off to do something they liked better, but-

Everybody had wised up and made Governorships of planets and large regions of planets hereditary, because you _had_ to have a lifetime’s training and experience to really run it well; but if he didn’t have _Elti_ as his Governor’s boss he wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable leaving her alone. His Governor was a fine person and he might have only been twenty-seven and she was more than old enough to be his mother- but he’d heard enough stories from _Dyadya_ Vanya to be worried about a government where Nations didn’t have any real power, even if it was only over one little thing, some department somewhere that gave them even a bit of official authority beyond being _‘the Nation’_ and the figurehead for the people.

“You should do something about it,” Nikolaus told him. “You should ask _Elti_ as Jagdsprinz to come fix things for you. That’s what she does.”

Raganhar looked like he was about to get even _angrier,_ and maybe lose it so bad he’d stop quietly yell-hissing at them all; but then he just went quiet. Still angry, but quiet.

“I _will,_ ” he said, and grabbed a piece of paper. He quickly wrote something down on it, and shoved it at Nikolaus to take. “Now just get _out_ of here!”

Raganhar’s home office in Oricao to the room Nikolaus and Reut were sharing in the Lilac Dawn in Atarah wasn’t a difficult step at all. Nikolaus knew none of the Earth Nations- Venice excepted, but she was so much focused on space it wasn’t _that_ surprising- could have done it, not even _Dyadya_ Vanya whose whole _command_ was Further Space, but it had never been a problem for Katyusha or any of the siblings younger than him, the colonies.

_“Elti!”_ Nikolaus yelled. He could feel her nearby- just back in the main room, where she’d been fighting with _Dyadya_ Vanya about an hour ago. “ _Elti- Elti,_ we went to see Raganhar and he told us _everything!_ ”

“You _what!” Elti_ yelled back, and Katyusha was looking at him pleadingly, silently asking **_‘why_** _did you have to do this while I was still here’,_ but this was _important_ and now they could get something _done._

“I had to make sure he was okay!” Reut called, and grabbed Katyusha so he couldn’t get away. She and Nikolaus headed for the door to the main room. Katyusha tried to dig his feet into the carpet and make them stop. “Klaus came with me and we got Tenka to supervise, he made sure we were okay!”

“I was pressured!” Katyusha protested as they entered the main room, and almost fell flat on his face when he hit a hidden seam in the carpet.

Nikolaus thought they might have interrupted a meeting- General Agresta was here, and Arik, and some of the other High Command, including _Dyadya_ Vanya and _Elti_ wasn’t _that_ uncomfortable about it, they must have apologized to each other, _good-_

“We talked to Raganhar and he had us take all these papers and he told us what’s going on with the dead zone why it’s going on and- he wrote you a _‘help me’_ letter _Elti-_ ”

He got a brief look at it while he was handing it over. Raganhar had written: _‘GODDAMNIT JAGDSPRINZ GET RID OF THEM ALREADY, THEY KILLED ARMISTEAD AND I’M UNDER ORDERS –your son Raganhar Razanás Ubrilles’._

Reut started unstuffing the bags of papers while Nikolaus told them what Raganhar had said, with the humans and the Nations and he gave Arik his bag, with the occupier’s orders, and he had to tell them that no he didn’t know how the _Distawydwr_ were involved in all this, Ragi hadn’t said.

“So, it is a bid for sovereignty,” _Dyadya_ Vanya said when he was finished, and turned to _Elti._ “You see? I _said_ it would make things worse if we rushed in blindly.”

“Don’t fight,” Nikolaus pleaded instantly. “ _Please_ don’t fight; that’s why we went to see Ragi and figure out what was going on, so you’d stop _fighting._ ”

_Elti_ got a really _weird_ sort of stunned look on her face, sort of like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she shoved it away too quickly for him to take a look through their citizen bond and check out the emotions behind it.

“It’s not a sovereignty bid for Ubrilles,” she said, smoothing Raganhar’s note down on the table. “Our orders are clear- Marschall Braginski, if you’d start getting the word out? We have a _Hunt_ to run.”

* * *

Iran had to go to Atarah in the wake of the Hunt that destroyed the _Distawydwr_ on Ubrilles and killed most of the occupying soldiers; because as Artakshathra had paraphrased from the message passed through a string of planetary AIs from Griolara onwards:

_‘General Beilschmidt told the Jagdsprinz she was undermining everything because they’re supposed to be a joint task force and they’ve already **had** problems getting everyone to work together and they could have waited until the ships came in, and then the Jagdsprinz told him that they weren’t the same government as him, the Großjagdsreich is officially **not** a member of the UN, so “fuck you”, and then the General insulted her integrity and called her a “hypocrite” and then they started yelling about Germany.’_

It was just so very _like_ the two of them, and Forouzandeh sent off a short message to Venice asking when she was expecting to formally appoint her war admiral, and to please make absolutely certain they can handle the Jagdsprinz and the General having a screaming row and perhaps a good sense for when things are escalating to the point of physical violence.

Just because they hadn’t hit each other _yet_ in public, to Iran’s knowledge, didn’t mean they weren’t going to take this period of working together as an excuse to _finally_ have a nice family brawl.

Atarah was a string of meetings, her General and his subordinate officers against the Jagdsprinz and _her_ subordinate officers; though really it was more like the General against the Jagdsprinz with herself idly supervising while Ivan and Nico Agresta had semi-productive but _civil_ discussions about what to do next with the UN military officials. They couldn’t quite seem to get past a fundamental disagreement- the Hunt wanted to go after Oetrbyke now that they had Ubrilles back and a reasonable certainty that the Nation of Oetrbyke was either under orders or dead; but the UN military officials wanted to use Ubrilles as the staging point to win back Qecarro.

Iran was content to let them have their polite disagreements. The Hunt knew that they couldn’t move again by themselves without causing a political incident, and the UN wasn’t going anywhere until Venice’s warships came in. After that, they could probably stall another week or so to wait for the warships from the Uaclleon shipyards, for the _Großjagdsreich_ and the Hunt. _Then_ they could worry, if they hadn’t agreed yet.

Gilbert and the Jagdsprinz could use a couple more days of yelling at each other, and then a week or so to calm down, anyway. It was best they get it out of their systems at the beginning of their working relationship.

* * *

Emma hadn’t ever been expecting an apology from Garen and Diodre for not believing them about Hafen Matlock and the killed Jäger- but they got one, because someone else in Little Honalee was spreading _‘rumors’_.

“It’s some wandering sorceress,” Adanna told her when she asked. “She came in with her- _‘partner’,_ is what she called it, but I don’t know if that means they’re married or they just travel together or both. He got her pregnant, anyway. He works in Kasumi Arevikev’s jack shop.”

She told a lying truth to Adanna- that she wanted to go Little Honalee to talk to this sorceress herself, and Adanna told her where to find Kasumi Arevikev’s shop.

“So what are we expecting out of this?” Rosario asked as they walked over. Little Honalee wasn’t far from the house- maybe seven minutes’ walk, and there it was. Arevikev’s shop was on the opposite side from the district, though. “Are we just trying to figure out how she knows about Hafen Matlock? Because that thing with the ship’s crew _might_ have actually happened. Just because _we_ made it up for our cover-”

“Or she could be some sort of plant,” Emma told him. “I don’t know exactly what anyone could get out of saying the _Distawydwr_ killed _everyone_ in Hafen Matlock, but it’s probably something like heightened fear. Scare tactics. Get everyone too frightened to protest.”

The atmosphere in Little Honalee was certainly oppressive enough for her to believe that it would take some sort of direct attack for anyone here to do anything- and even then they’d probably rather run and hide than face _Distawydwr,_ or maybe the police or the army the IRC was raising.

“It could be nothing, yeah,” she agreed with Rosario. “But we have to at least-”

There was a woman a little further down the road, just off the curb in the street, talking to some man leaning on a lamppost. She _knew_ that face.

“Emma?” Rosario asked.

“That blondish woman, down by the lamppost!” she told him quietly. “That’s the one who was watching us!”

“In Little Honalee?” he said. “Then maybe- _oh-_ ”

Emma didn’t hear the rest of it, because she dashed off towards the woman, hoping to get to her before the other one spotted her. It worked- she was standing next to the two of them, one hand on the woman’s shoulder like she was someone she knew, just trying to get the notice of, but the bulk of her body hiding the knife she was pressing into the small of the woman’s back.

“I saw you earlier,” she said conversationally, and watched the man’s eyes widen. She couldn’t see the face of the woman she was holding at knifepoint, but Emma guessed she’d managed to convey _‘mortal danger!’_ clearly enough through her expression.

Was that- fear, on his face?

Emma dropped her volume.

“You were hanging around the Hunt post, _watching,_ ” she said, so only the man and the woman could hear. “And in _these_ times no one who hangs around one of the Hunt’s places wants to get caught- so you’re not going to call any attention to yourself, hm? We’re going to walk over behind that store nice and friendly-like, and you’re going to _tell me-_ ”

“Emma,” Rosario said. “Lay off.”

“Why should I?” she demanded.

“I _know them,_ ” Rosario told her. “This is Radzimierz Andrysiak and Dorothea Auttenburg, I’ve _worked_ with them!”

“Yeah?” Emma said suspiciously. “And you’re _certain-_ ”

“Can’t you take a _hint,_ Emma!” he demanded, voice dropped to almost a whisper. “They’re _Kommandanten;_ they’re _Jäger!_ ”

“There are more of us,” Dorothea whispered. “We’re pretending to be the crew of a ship that got stuck behind the embargo line. _Rosario-_ ”

Emma removed the knife and put it back in its hiding place.

“Show us.”

Dorothea and Radzimierz led them to the west edge of Little Honalee, where it was only a few blocks from the outer boundary of the spaceport. There was one of the subdivided hostels there, where small ship’s crews could rent out dormitory spaces to sleep together while their crafts were overhauled or repaired.

The fake crew had the top floor. There were seven or eight of them in the large room at the moment, and Emma made the two of them go in first.

“We’ve brought friends!” Radzimierz announced loudly.

_“Maybe,”_ she heard Dorothea mutter darkly, but Emma elected to ignore it because now _she_ recognized someone.

“General Vuković!” she exclaimed, and saluted.

General Tomislav Vuković, General of the Toxotes section, based on Qecarro, looked at her in mild confusion.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

They’d never met, but it was a point of pride- and bragging rights, when you had more names and faces memorized than the others you worked with- in Intelligence to know as many Hunt officers as possible. General Beilschmidt could name just about everyone right on down through the newest Kommandanten, but he had the unfair advantage of knowing most of them since they’d joined.

“Witchbreaker Leutnantkommandant Emma Miccichelo, Intelligence and Internal Affairs, on special assignment from Marschall Braginski and General Beilschmidt on behalf of the Jagdsprinz!”

There was a murmur throughout the room at her announcement, though she couldn’t quite identify the emotion behind it. She was a known name in the Hunt, and had been ever since she’d jumped General Agresta in the Workshop to prove that she should be allowed Witchbreaker training.

“Kommandant Rosario Allard Costa,” Rosario said, without nearly as much pride. “Most lately of 32nd Husar, stationed in Uaclleon, on same special assignment. We have a third officer, in deep cover- a kodrene, impersonating a domestic cat until circumstances demand otherwise.”

Someone in the room laughed a little at that.

General Vuković had them sit, and explained how the rest of them had ended up here.

“Fear,” was the simple answer. “Fear and cowardice. The Ubrilles garrison fought as well as it could, but we got separated and by the time I’d lost the ones chasing me- the planet had fallen, and they’d locked down the garrison. I didn’t dare go back, and I only left once I figured out that no one else has survived. Winter-”

He was wearing his AI interface gloves openly, so it wasn’t hard to guess who Winter was.

“-got me surveillance video, and helped me get out. I thought that I could go to the Qecarro post and stay with them, but when I got there there were just bodies. But Gage was hiding out in the Sorcery Quarter, and after we’d stayed a week most of the rest of the group ended up there, hoping to sneak out of Qecarro on smuggling ships and get to Ubrilles, or just _out._ Every one of us had run when we were attacked, rather than stand and fight, and when I told them there was nowhere safe to run _to…_ ”

He trailed off for a few moments.

“We left Qecarro for Atbrion. There were actually three of four survivors from Atbrion, and we tracked down the dead bodies after the _Distawydwr_ had moved them and took them back to the post.”

“And we burned it down as their funeral pyre,” Radzimierz spoke up. “It was the only thing we could really do in protest.”

“We came here because this is where all the refugees are being shipped, and we thought that if there were any more Jäger who had survived, they might disguise themselves as refugees to move around. So we got here, pretended to be a ship’s crew, and have been hiding out for the past few days.”

“Well, that’s what _we_ did when we started running out of money, so I guess it was a good decision,” Rosario told him, and explained about their special mission and what they’d managed to accomplish so far. Hearing it out loud didn’t make it seem like they’d done a very good job, and Emma was faintly embarrassed.

General Vuković and his Jäger were impressed, though.

“We’ve been hearing about this sorceress, too,” he told them. “She’s been very- _talkative._ It is rather suspicious, now that I think about it.”

It took a little more talking, but in the end it was Emma and General Vuković who went to Kasumi Arevikev’s jack shop instead of Emma and Rosario. Rosario elected to stay behind in the hostel with Radzimierz and Dorothea and talk to the surviving Jäger, to see if there was any useful information they could come up with. He’d meet Emma back at Adanna’s house later.

 The jack shop didn’t look the part for the surprise it contained. Emma had been expecting to walk in with General Vuković, have to ask Sorcerer Arevikev where her guest usually was at this time of day, and then spend maybe an hour hunting the wandering sorceress down.

Instead, she walked in to find János Héderváry working behind the shop counter.

She froze, and _he_ froze, and an old woman who was probably Kasumi Arevik looked at her with a carefully-blank expression and asked him: “Friend?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I- yeah. Who’s he?”

_‘He’_ was clearly General Vuković.

“Another friend,” Emma told him.

“I can take the shop for a few minutes, Béla,” the old woman said. “You can take your friends around back and catch up, quickly.”

* * *

There was a sort of relief in knowing that there were Jäger around, even if there weren’t very many of them and most of them were still scared from trauma. It was even better, in Lana’s opinion, that there were a few Nia had sent specifically- especially Emma Miccichelo, because János knew her semi-personally through Árpád and Lana knew her by reputation. She might have had a bit too much of Cassiel’s recklessness and penchant for going enthusiastically into danger, but she was also possessed of her grandmother’s good sense and her great-grandfather’s talent for figuring other people out. Arik and Ivan had known what they were doing when they put her in charge of a badly-put-together spy mission.

A couple days of peace, almost a week but not quite that much, was all they got until the next crisis.

It started in the mid-afternoon, on a day Lana was in the community center. She’d exhausted her crop of stories, and everyone knew them all already, but she’d developed a habitual schedule during the work of spreading them around in the first place; and today was the day she spent the afternoon in the community center, having tea or coffee and making small talk with the parents leaving their children for tutoring or the people waiting for workshops or the older residents of Little Honalee, come for some social time and to share their judgement of how the universe was progressing these days amongst each other and anyone else who would listen.

Lana liked cranky old people. They reminded her of her grandfather.

The community centered in Mages’ Markets, when they had one, did _actually_ serve as the center of the community’s business. It was where the community council met, where you could rent out workshop space for a few hours or weeks, and where the wandering sorcerers came to find out where the jobs and housing were.

This particular sorcerer wasn’t wandering. He was half-in a police uniform- no, that was the Republican Army. There was a moment where everyone in the large front lobby space froze at the sight of it when he burst in, but then a couple people must have recognized his face because they relaxed, and slowly everyone else caught on.

“They just sent me back from Qecarro!” he called to the room. “We got called to Lasqueti- the Sorcery Quarter rioted!”

The person behind the lobby desk wasted absolutely no time calling in the community officers and the center administration to hear, and there was a flurry of Little Honalee residents sending off messages to friends and family to tell them to get down here if they were free.

It wasn’t just the Sorcery Quarter, technically, it was explained; but the Sorcery Quarter was the part of Lasqueti where it was the worst. No, he didn’t know why it had started, but he was pretty sure it was worse in the Sorcery Quarter than everywhere else because-

“They’ve all heard the same stories,” the man told them. “The Jäger and Hafen Matlock. And when they had us show up- you know, the thing with the Vatican, when they teach you about history and you’re on the Italian Civil War and they say _‘this is where the modern Hunt really began’_. We showed up with guns and they stuck us mages out front and- they were scared, and no Jäger showed up. I don’t think I’ll ever see so many wards go up so fast again in my life-”

He cut himself off, and someone had to prod him back into speaking.

“The commanders told us we- the mages- we had to break the wards. We didn’t really _want_ to and there were a lot of them but we worked together and we weren’t supposed to be able to do it but they fell, and- I don’t know where they came from. I guess they’d glamoured themselves but the wards came down and then the _Distawydwr_ just _appeared._ They came right out of the police line behind and made sure _everyone_ could see them and they had their own sorcerers and _that’s_ how the wards came down, they were working behind us, and then they _disappeared_ again except the sorcerers  and- I guess they went into the Quarter I don’t _know_ but the people there started setting things on fire and they had us advance and there were some iron traps so I guess they were prepared for it- I don’t know _why_ we had _Distawydwr_ no one _told us_ they were there and the commanders seemed just as shocked as us even if they weren’t nearly as scared just kind of freaked out, but we’re _police officers_ and riots are a threat to the public safety so what were we supposed to _do_ but break the wards and get in there and make sure people weren’t getting murdered or something; but letting in _Distawydwr definitely_ killed some people-”

It took a little while to calm the man down.

“I- I was sent by the army to get more supplies for the police mages and the technomancers,” he eventually managed to say. “They didn’t want to loot the Sorcery Quarter since that’s illegal but it wasn’t like anyone was going to _sell_ to us so I said- we, us, the mages, we talked and Little Honalee was big enough for us to get everything we needed and there are so many people here we thought just a couple of army people wouldn’t scare anyone too much, and we _told_ the army that we’d be able to get what we needed her so- so please don’t- we’re going to pay and we’ll ask for bulk discounts and yeah it’s going to the army on Qecarro but _please_ don’t cause any trouble they might have us come _here_ next-”

* * *

Thirty-nine days after the attack on Atarah, Aizuasleron defected back out of the dead zone. Ey was one of Nikolaus’s neighbors, technically, though eir gate connected to Iohines for historical-political reasons, rather than the much closer Greylea-Griolara system.

Dana had turned up with Jero D’Onore, eir Governor, in the square outside the government building, loudly claiming truce and invoking eir right as _Razanás_ Aizuasleron to speak with the Jagdsprinz.

He and Reut got their chance at eir when Governor D’Onore and _Elti_ started… it wasn’t negotiating terms of _surrender,_ maybe _‘reconciliation’_?

“Dana,” Nikolaus said once they’d been left alone. “We talked to Raganhar and he said some things, about why this whole thing happened, and…”

He wasn’t really sure how to continue with this.

“It’s just that your Governor is out there talking to _Elti,_ ” Reut said. “And not you.”

“And that’s the way I want it,” Dana told them. “I don’t know what your brother told you, but if it was that _‘Republicans are anti-Genists’ **crap,**_ then forget you ever heard it, alright? Revived Republicanism is the most Genist thing to happen since the _original_ Genists. This is Nations and humans working together to get _everybody_ what they want.”

“It sounded like what you wanted to do was not do your job,” Nikolaus said carefully.

“Who decided what _‘our job’_ is, anyway?” ey demanded. “It’s one thing for the Kings of Honalee to have all that power and clearly-defined rules and things- Ereshkigal appoints them. But humans **_make_** _us._ Fine, we’re Kings, of a sort. We’ve got power no one else has, and we need a little special protection so we can keep our personal agency. But there are plenty of humans who had needed special protection, too, and there are plenty of fey and fey-blooded who can do a lot of what Nations do who are _‘human’_ under the law. So why should _we_ be any different than humans?”

“Because we have a duty to our people no one else can replace!” Reut snapped immediately.

“So why should that have to be government?” Dana asked. “Why can’t we go be actors or writers or lawyers or doctors or IT technicians or academics or engineers or teachers or librarians or sanitation workers or police officers or ship captains or construction workers or _anything else?_ Why should we be the _only ones_ forced into having _one_ pre-determined job? Even the Governors get to decide they want to do something else once they grow up- they get _twenty years_ after legal majority to decide!- and then somebody different gets trained to take over when the old Governor retires! It doesn’t matter what job I actually have- no one can stop me from feeling my people, from _knowing_ them. If they’ve got a bad government, then I go to the Hunt, and then I go back home. Maybe knowing my people gives me special insight into politics- but it would do the same if I was a psychologist or a social worker or a nurse, too, so why stop me from doing _that?_ ”

 “Because if you’re not involved then bad people could get in charge-” Nikolaus started to say, but Dana cut him off with a scoff.

“That’s the _old_ Nations talking,” ey told him. “That’s Venice and China and Cuba and General Beilschmidt and Marschall Braginski and all the others. Since when did having an official position in any of their old governments do _them_ any good? The only way _they_ found to keep _“bad people”_ from getting in charge was to put _themselves_ in charge. They’re controlling and dysfunctional and weirdly condescending- your people as _‘your children’; **really?** _ They’ve barely got any sort of respect for humanity as a whole; and they’re bitter and hateful and paranoid. If _I_ had been treated like they were since the moment I was born, I bet I’d be like that too. _But I wasn’t. None_ of us were. People have _changed._ They’re not some sort of perpetually immature sub-species. They’re worth every bit as much as any of us, and they’re as fully capable of ration and compassion and self-control and maturity- _because they are us and we are them._ The old ones don’t trust humans, and don’t trust themselves. _We_ trust ourselves, and so we trust humans. We don’t have to _parent_ them- we _shouldn’t_ do that. As humans have a right to agency, so do Nations; as Nations have a right to dignity, so do humans. _That’s_ what Revived Republicanism is about.”

It was hard to see the ideals from the ground-end, searching Loptaki with a modified dowsing spell in Katyusha’s hands for Oskar while the UN forces and Jäger Regiments uprooted the Republican forces on Oetrbyke. Aizuasleron’s defection had opened enough of a _‘safe-spot’_ that General Beilschmidt had agreed to take Iohines and from there Oetrbyke, instead of going after Qecarro, which was a major trade crossroads and had proportionally many access points. Iohines had four access points- down the Orion Pass from Greylea-Griolara and up the same from Traevsabr, a gate to Aizuasleron, and a gate to Oetrbyke. All the new fleet had to do was block up the lightspeed path between Traevsabr and Iohines, and then let the army get to work.

Dana had told them and their _Elti_ and Hunt High Command very forcefully and very clearly that the _Distawydwr_ ’s involvement in everythingwas the product of a _very_ misthought alliance- some of the Republicans had assumed that the exiled Tylwyth’s hatred of Queen Nicnevin and resentment towards the Jagdsprinz was somehow compatible with the goal of _not_ having Nations- Kings- in charge of governments, but the Tylwyth of Aphwhion had only cooperated long enough to start exploiting everything for their own retaliatory ends.

Ey had had the decency to admit that there were definitely some in the movement who _welcomed_ the presence of the _Distawydwr,_ as a useful scare tactic, or as a way to get rid of the Honalenier and fey and fey-blooded and generally magical whom they distrusted, or because they actually _approved_ of what had been done to the Jäger, seeing the Oversight Commissions and Hunt posts as some sort of colonialism or blatant foreign control-

“ _They’re_ the reason we left,” Dana had said. “They’re not at _all_ in the majority, but now that the _Distawydwr_ have gotten involved almost all of the moderates are too scared to do anything, so it’s _them_ who get to do all the talking. We left because we couldn’t be part of that, and we thought the Jagdsprinz might be able to protect us from the _Distawydwr._ ”

_Elti_ had promised Aizuasleron the protection of the Hunt and the _Großjagdsreich,_ complete with the formal, written, _contractual_ assurance that they could run their government however they damn well pleased, Genist or Republican or something else entirely, so long as they didn’t start violating human rights legislation or the Tripartite Treaty or the Jagdsprinz’s Pact.

Looking at Oskar thrown down in the dirt in the part of his gardens he’d left fallow for the year, bronze in gleaming frozen trickles from his mouth where the _Distawydwr_ had poured cans of it molten down his throat into his stomach and lungs until it flowed over, he had a really hard time understanding _why._

Shouldn’t they have known better?  

* * *

The IRC might have been able to hide the Jäger being murdered and Ubrilles and Oetrbyke being taken, but they couldn’t deny the secession of Aizuasleron and the capture of Iohines. They didn’t seem to _want_ to try to hide the fact that the United Nations was trying to negotiate the return of Qecarro for the return of Iohines, and were trumpeting it as a point of pride. The United Nations was _willing_ to return Iohines- they _acknowledged_ that the Republicans had a case!

They might have wanted, or tried, to cover up the riots on Qecarro and specifically what had happened with the Sorcery Quarter in Lasqueti, but they had an army now and people talked. They talked _loudly,_ and all over the Internets, messages carried on the automatic dumps between planets on the movements of ships through gates and along lightspeed lanes. News of the _Distawydwr_ and the _Ligywr_ sorcerers traveled faster than any orders not to talk, and suddenly the rumors and stories that were already widely believed in the magical community had some physical proof.

Fast on the heels of the stories and the photos and the footage from Lasqueti came apparently sourceless dumps of security footage from the Jäger posts. What had previously been an issue only discussed in quiet amongst magic-users and their habitual neighbors became an IRC-wide explosion of emotion.

The government response amounted to: _‘We’re sorry, we were trying not to scare anyone.’_

“That- that should have worked in our _favor,_ right?” Rosario asked her a few days later, vaguely confused. “But it didn’t.”

In some sort of logical, reasonable society- which was unfortunately _not_ what Emma was in right now- the news that their government had been culpable in seriously pissing off the Hunt would have sent everyone sprinting back to the UN to grovel and ask for forgiveness.  

Instead, it had made everyone more determined to fight.

“Of course this makes sense,” _Herr_ Héderváry told her when she asked him about it. “The Hunt is _deliberately_ supposed to be terrifying. It wasn’t made with complex political situations in mind. It was designed as a point-and-kill sort of organization, to solve _individual_ problems. When the _‘who to blame’_ part gets unclear, it’s easy for people to worry that maybe _they_ might fall into that category, and then they get scared and maybe start making stupid decisions. They’d rather stand and fight than grovel to the Hunt and then get killed for their efforts.”

That wasn’t how the Hunt worked. That wasn’t how it was _supposed_ to work. The sticky confusing stuff was why there was a Jagdsprinz, who could look at people and _know_ who was at fault.

“But how do you apportion blame when its planets full of people who might be to blame? Where does it stop? How far does it go- the people who gave orders, the people who followed orders, the people who thought maybe there was some merit to the ideas but weren’t _really_ sure so they didn’t do anything, the people who were worrying about other things, the ones too scared to act? Is Nia supposed to just start walking around and killing people as she finds them? Because that doesn’t look like justice.”

What did he want them to do, make the Hunt _perfect?_

“It would be nice. There are a lot of good reasons why I never joined the Hunt, and why I’m not going to. If it hadn’t turned out to be the only really good way to make international law enforceable- well, I’d want to bundle the whole thing up, shove it back to Honalee, and lock the door behind them. They’ve done an okay job, but-”

His opinion ended with a noncommittal shrug, and Emma bit back angry words and stalked out of the jack shop to go help Adanna and the others with the May Day preparations, like a good houseguest. Evidently, with the emotional climate of everything lately, the Honalenier Pagans were expecting an even bigger turn-out for the High King’s May Day rituals than normal.

Everyone wanted a good distraction, and the sort of comfort of seeing the High King go from Samhain’s _‘Enforcer’_ aspect to May Day’s _‘Protector’_ aspect. These were times where people felt an acute need for a protector.

* * *

May Day was an _event_ in Little Honalee.

János was honestly surprised.

He’d heard about Honalenier Pagan celebrations before, and it was common knowledge, if you knew about these things, to know that the Samhain and May Day celebrations were always open to the public. In most places, though they weren’t much of a thing beyond the adherents in question, their friends, and maybe some new people looking to get into the religion.

He’d avoided Honalenier Pagan celebrations up until now, because- well, he had trouble seeing it. Honalenier Pagans weren’t _nearly_ as bad as the Nation-worshippers, but even though he very well _knew_ that the Honalenier Pagans made a very clear distinction between Kings-as-Gods and Kings-as-People, he couldn’t really get past that.

The Jagdsprinz was his cousin, and Kore Despoina was the mother of his eldest child, which made Amphitrite Kataiis something kind of like his mother-in-law. It just- didn’t work. The few Honalenier Pagans he’d known personally from their work in blood and soul magic had been understanding of his point of view on the matter.

But if he’d had been able to make more of an informed opinion about what Honalenier Pagan celebration to go to first, the High King’s May Day of Little Honalee would have been an excellent choice.

Honalenier Paganism had obviously been long and well established in Katang. _‘Come-all rules’_ could basically be boiled down to _‘respect the religion and the ritual you are participating in regardless of your personal beliefs’,_ and the ritual clearing in the woods behind the house was large enough to hold an appreciable crowd. The clearing itself was ringed by rocks, and for the most part people had seemed to bring blankets and pillows to sit on, if they weren’t going to use the ground or stand. The grass was mown enough to be neat, but an effort had clearly been made to strike a good balance between _‘natural’_ and _‘comfortable’_.

The impressive part of it all, though, was the devotional statue. It was maybe half again as big as life-sized, made of richly-stained and –polished wood, iron that had been sealed against rust, and bronze that had been allowed to weather mostly black, polished in places where it provide the best aesthetics, complete with a real fur cloak and an impressive set of elk antlers. It was clearly a very loved piece, and he was doing his best to be emotionally detached from it. This was a piece of art, not a portrait.

Maintenance of that mindset was helped by the fact the High King was always shown in full Hunt armor, so it wasn’t like there was a _face_ to analyze or anything.

Still, there was something niggling at him. It took him until the ritual-service was about to start for him to realize what it was- there was an awful lot of magic, here.

“I’m about to do something that might be a bit ill-advised,” he murmured to Lana. “Watch my body.”

Lana had probably tried to take the opportunity to crack a dirty joke, because she was like that, but János dropped himself immediately into the first stage of a sündeyalacgh’s spirit-walking.

Breathe in- you are consolidating yourself, you are filling your body, it is a shell your home but you can always go out the front door-

Breathe out- step out with it, your heartbeat is your beacon and your exhale is your road.

The ritual clearing was even more impressive in spirit.

Looking at it like this, from the perspective of the shadow part of his soul, János could see the magic of the place, and the different parts of the souls of the people in it. The Honalenier Pagans had _definitely_ been here a long time, probably since the very first settlers came to Algarth and founded Katang, because the clearing was _soaked_ in magic. It was possible that some of the priests and officiants over the centuries had had native magic of some sort and used it, but more importantly the twice-yearly ritual of the place had worn ruts in the metaphysical topography of the area, and the magic came to fill it. The whole place worked like one large folk magic spell- it didn’t matter, necessarily, if there was divinity in what the Honalenier Pagans were doing or not. The intent of it had permeated into the clearing with the ritual forms, and now they got a measure of whatever the ritual was about regardless if there was any listening to them at the other end.

He slipped up to the front of the clearing, next to the devotional statue, to take a look at the altar. The focus of things was here, and János could see that the devotional statue _was_ actually magical. It had been constructed with magic for preservation and protection and attracting more power- and someone had inscribed the Jagdsprinz’s glyph-name in the iron core of the statue, right where the heart would be in a living person. It sort of… glowed.

  On the altar itself was the ritual sword, unwrapped from its usual red silk to lie at the front of the altar, awaiting the priestess. The black-draped- table? stone? he couldn’t tell- was otherwise bare except for two iron fire-bowls full of oil, a spray of red and gold flowers, and a small iron offering dish, right at the base of the statue. It was filled with salt, and five Jägerskovsk gold Thaler had been placed on top.

János wondered who had done the original research for the Honalenier Pagan movement, because _‘salt’_ and _‘five gold coins’_ was only associated with the Jagdsprinz in one context- the Kings’ summoning. Coin was the payment for the Jagdsprinz’s stolen time and an acknowledgement of the debt incurred by the summoner; salt the bare minimum of Hospitality required. With the Jagdsprinz’s glyph-name in the statue and the attracted magic by the repeated ritual, they were _dangerously_ close to an inadvertent summoning. All it would take was a moment of religious fervency directed at the Jagdsprinz and a little accidental blood.

He hoped they didn’t do blood sacrifices here.

The ritual-service began when the priestess came down the aisle in the crowd kept clear for this purpose, carrying a lit rowan stick. János moved aside, drawing away into the open space next to the altar where no one was standing. It wasn’t very respectful, but he’d come up to the altar in that same aisle, and right now the officiant with the basket of apples was following the priestess’s path, and he’d have to wait for her to get up to the clear space in front of the altar so he could edge in behind her and then get back to his body.

The priestess lit the fire-bowls with the rowan stick, then blew it out and exchanged the stick for the sword, holding it in hand, point towards the ground, turned so she was facing the group.

She started in on the myth of the occasion, the story of the High King- Enforcer bloody and fierce from Samhain Eve to May Day, the darker part of the year; Protector parental and strong from May Day to the beginning of Samhain Moon, the lighter part of the year; and absent from the world during Samhain Moon, when all manner of uncontrolled natural forces took over for the duration of the month- and János saw movement in the woods.

It took him a moment to realize why no one was reacting to their _incredibly_ rude entering of the clearing from the altar side; but once he did, he reached out and grabbed the nearest _Distawydwr_ ’s soul-essence and _pulled_ , shattering the Tylwyth woman’s glamour and projecting himself into the bodily, visible world. 

She shrieked, and started screaming about ghosts and evil spirits, batting at him with her hands to try to knock him away; but the shadow parts of souls didn’t have any physical mass- that was what the body part of your soul was for- and she just passed through him. The other _Distawydwr,_ still invisible to the rest of the gathering, had stopped in shock to stare at them.

The attendees had started screaming. Some of them were running away and some of them were starting to try some magic, but János was pleased to see that the Jäger- attending for a little semblance of _‘home’_ \- no matter their earlier instances of turning and running when faced with _Distawydwr_ and their comparatively unarmed state, were trying to do crowd control and keeping a wary eye out for _anything_ that might have been out of place.

Emma, unsurprisingly, had hurtled up to the front of the clearing. He jerked his head in the direction of a knot of _Distawydwr_ and she just barreled into the space, tackling one and taking a few more with her in the fall. A kodrene János had never seen before, but must have been the disguised third teammate, swore loudly and furiously at her idiocy and total lack of self-preservation instincts while he started laying into bowled-over, de-illusioned _Distawydwr_ with iron and his own fists.

A lightshow out of the corner of his vision, in the crowd, was Lana putting on the distraction fireworks, using her own Tylwyth blood and greater power to pick out the glamours of the _Distawydwr_ who hadn’t stopped when János appeared, now that she knew to look. She was tearing them off, and Rosario was taking out the now-visible attackers with a gun the kodrene must have smuggled- Emma had told him something about the two of them hiding most of their equipment with him behind his cat form, since they’d only need it in a situation dire enough to warrant a transformation.

He turned his attention back to the _Distawydwr_ he was still holding. It hadn’t even been a minute since his appearance yet- he might not want much to do with the Hunt, but they trained good reaction times.    

The inborn ability to do magic was known to have something to do with the soul, but no one was really certain where it was located or how it worked. To be absolutely sure, János took the Tylwyth woman’s life-force in one hand and twisted.

She died.

“If you try to hang around I’ll make sure something nasty happens to you,” he warned, and ignored her dead soul in favor of helping the kodrene Jager. There were three obvious and easily-identifiable threats, but János was intangible and Lana was clearly an extremely powerful sorceress and was currently destroying the two sorcerers the _Distawydwr_ had brought with them on this little escapade, so the kodrene was easiest to attack, beyond being a traditional enemy.

János plucked and twisted life-forces as they passed by him, and _Distawydwr_ died, disappearing in his sight as they went wherever the godless Honalenier went. 

The kodrene was trained and bloodthirsty, Emma was just clearly a berserker even without a Hunt to back her up, Lana was doing a good impression of magical destruction incarnate if faced head-on, and János was literally untouchable- but he had his weak point.

A _Distawydwr_ had snuck around the clearing, avoiding a fight, to get behind Lana, and killed him.

He hadn’t- he’d never died before, and had a second of panic where he _realized_ he was dying and also that he had no idea what happened if your body died without the rest of the parts of your soul in residence, but it would probably be-

Nico’s first death was public domain information. János had read the book, of course, and a magic-using _Seelenkind_ ’s death had seemed pretty intense to him. He’d decided to avoid it if at all possible.

What _he_ remembered was pushing himself off the ground, blood still pouring from where the _Distawydwr_ had stabbed him with his short sword, and still being sort of half out of his body, kind of still spirit-walking, and feeling-seeing the ruts ritual had worn in this place and the almost-not-quite-a-spell had the form and the magic from the twice-yearly rituals and now it had the blood-    

János looked up at the glyph-name burning in the heart of the statue and summoned the Jagdsprinz.

* * *

War was complicated thing, and on one hand Iran gladly welcomed the Jagdsprinz’s political fuck-ups because it dragged things out longer and gave her more time to execute her plans, but on the other hand she felt guilty about enjoying it, because people were dying.

But it was worth some of the emotional conflict to see her General give such an utterly _incensed_ dressing-down to his niece about she’d fucked up, she’d _kept_ fucking up, and frankly he didn’t trust her not to _continue_ to keep fucking up in the future; so if she’d kindly get the _hell_ off his front lines and do something else, _anything_ else-

Ivan was fully backing Gilbert, if more calmly but with a lot more saddened, paternal disappointment, which was the only reason the Jagdsprinz paid any attention.

There were a number of things she could have done better on Katang, but the biggest one was to not have stormed through the city to the International Republican Council’s headquarters, dramatically interrupted the meeting in full-on Jagdsprinz mode, and proceeded to thunder about their personal and collective sins until she’d exhausted the topic.

It had been very public, and lost the Hunt their diplomatic chance at getting to Aphwhion, or killing the _Distawydwr._ Now, the _Distawydwr_ had all the material they needed to exert even _more_ pressure on the Republicans- they all knew now how the Jagdsprinz held them accountable for the deaths of her Jäger and the breaking of the Tripartite Treaty, and it was a small, easy step from restating the truth to them to using their fear of being killed to lock them into committing even more deeply to everything that had gotten them in trouble in the _first_ place.

The Jagdsprinz was sent packing to _‘focus on the full and proper integration of the Großjagdsreich’_ by Gilbert through the mouthpiece of Ivan.

Iran approved.

Now they could _really_ start working.

* * *

“I was promised I’d get to be a super-spy-assassin, sir,” Emma told her old Leutnant when she, Rosario, Domdruc, and General Vuković’s Jäger reported for post-mission debriefing. “I feel kind of cheated. We didn’t really do any spying and I hardly got to kill anyone.”

Arik- General Beilschmidt, she’d have to get used to titles in place of first names again, it was harder with him since they were so familiar with each other- smiled at her. The expression was tinged with a hint of disbelief.

“Sometimes things just don’t go according to plan,” he said. “But you did very well for yourself, Leutnantkommandant. Not many people can truthfully claim they choked a _Distawydwr_ to death with their bare hands.”

“I live to impress, sir.”

_“Don’t do it again,”_ he and Domdruc said at almost exactly the same time.

“Your great-grandfather would find some way to have me dead, without it being un-Christian,” General Beilschmidt continued. “But the three of you did a _very_ good job, considering the circumstances and lack of training. You got _Razanás_ Matlock free, facilitated the evacuation Hafen Matlock, acted as _agents provocateurs_ with your retelling of the truth, discovered the few surviving Jäger in the dead zone, and foiled a revenge-attack by _Distawydwr_ on innocent civilians.”

“Thank you, General Beilschmidt.”

“I’d like to offer you leave-”

“But there’s a war on and we’re needed?” Emma asked hopefully.

“It’s strictly a volunteer opportunity,” he said, ignoring the fact that she’d interrupted him. “But it’s also only being extended to all of you.”

“ _All_ of us?” General Vuković asked carefully.

“Yes, _all_ of you, Tomislav,” General Beilschmidt said. “Running away is a good survival skill, and the Marschalls backed all of you on it- not that the Jagdsprinz was particularly interested in kicking any of you out of the Hunt anyway. You’ve all proved your competence at surviving and operating behind enemy lines. We’ve test-run the idea of a special operations team; but now we’d like to do it _properly,_ with the right time and training. Who’s interested- Leutnantkommandant Miccichelo I _know_ **_you’re_** interested, you don’t have to have to start vibrating with anticipation like that.”

“But **_sir._** ”

* * *

It was good to be back on Earth, and Hungary’s horse farm was a nice, restful place to spend the rest of her pregnancy.

Nia had delivered them both personally back to Earth, and then on to the horse farm, in a considerably bad temper, but Lana was not going to ask about it, because she was ready for some peace and quiet.

Arion neighed loudly when they got to the property line, and Árpád ran out of the house barely ten seconds later, barreling down the driveway to grab their father in a tight hug.

“If that was how you felt went I went to Theiostea,” they said. “I’m really sorry and please don’t go anywhere _ever again._ ”

“I wasn’t in danger except near the very end,” he told his eldest child. “And I won’t be going anywhere for a while. Did you hear you’re going to have new siblings?”

“No,” Árpád said, and then couldn’t avoiding noticing her pregnancy, past the four month mark now. “ _Apa- really?_ ”

“Yes, really,” János told them. “So how have you been?”

Discussion what they’d all been doing over the last two months or so- herself, János, Árpád, Hungary, Terenzia, Nia, and Lana’s surprise Odette von Rothbart, who had apparently been hiding out since her abdication- took them through the large lunch Hungary and Árpád had put together. Lana learned that Nia was in a terrible mood because she’d gotten kicked off the front lines, and being forced to work only on domestic issues, namely getting the _Großjagdsreich_ fully pulled together and operational.

Lana thought this was a very smart move on the part whoever had been behind getting her reassigned. Probably Ivan.

The months leading up to the birth of the triplets were blessedly quiet, at least on the farm. Hungary had her own job, of course, but she’d long ago ceded part of the upkeep and ownership of the property to her grandchild, who did their work of maintaining the Hunt’s herds and Hungary’s own horse lineages here on the Hunt’s dime. There was a little post out on the edge of the farm, Árpád and Terenzia and a couple of guards, a number of Jäger working as a stablehands and breeders, but that was their only company, besides Odette.

“I’m not much of one for horses,” Odette confided. “But right now I’m still trying to figure out what else to do with myself, since the Jagdsprinz doesn’t want me back at the university until this war has finished and the _Distawydwr_ have been sorted out.”

There was only one truly bad thing, in fact, in the entire five months.

János came to bed one night a couple of weeks after they’d come to the farm looking drawn and shaken.

“Jansci?” she asked.

He burrowed under the blankets.

“ _Mama_ says she’s not going to be around much longer, she thinks,” he told her. “Iran is playing politics, and General Beilschmidt and some of the others, and- not a lot of Nations are going to make it through, if it works.”

Lana didn’t press him for more information about it, that night or ever later. She’d just held him, and then in the morning they started talking again about parenting- where to raise the children, how to handle the question of magic, what to do if they fell into the Hunt, how they were going to talk about their family history and all of the global history and politics and reputation that had gotten caught up in all of it.

Edward, Verity, and Joseph Héderváry-Kirkland were born in October.

* * *

Reut died five years after the _Distawydwr_ came to Atarah. Nikolaus was guiltily glad he hadn’t been around to see it.

_Elti_ had been the only one there. She’d gone seamlessly from Reut’s room to seeing her again on the edge of the myrtle forest in Orcus, and from there on to Irkalla. Nikolaus had never been to Irkalla- Isolde had been the only living Nation _Elti_ had ever taken there- and politely declined to listen to her talk about it when she offered.

They had a Nation’s funeral, which meant a headstone but no actual grave, in Sankt Michelmarc’s graveyard, in the family plot. He felt very out of place, standing by the graves of the aunt and uncle and grandfather who had died centuries before he’d been born, and further successive generations of hren Vinzfern part of the Beilschmidt family, the only line that hadn’t frozen its ends in the Hunt or under the favor of a King of Honalee.

He caught _Dyadya_ Vanya standing at Zell Beilschmidt’s grave thoughtfully, after Reut’s service had concluded.

“It is strange to me that I miss her, sometimes,” he told Nikolaus. “I do not think I would if I were not so close with your _Elti-_ but perhaps I would. She was quite a woman, and perfectly suited to her job. I do not think any of us had ever met someone so completely _unafraid_ of us, before.”

“ _Elti_ ’s not scared of Nations,” Nikolaus felt like he should point out.

“That is different,” _Dyadya_ Vanya said. “Your _Elti_ could kill any of us. Gisela Beilschmidt was only human, armed with nothing but the unshakeable certainty that none of us would ever do her harm, no matter how violent or petty or terrible we acted. It is shame she is the only one with _‘Costa’_ on her grave here.”

_Elti_ hadn’t ever taken him to her brother’s grave in Venice, the Jewish Costa family plot, but he knew where to find it if he ever wanted to go himself.

“Where are your family buried, _Dyadya_ Vanya?” he asked.

He seemed surprised about that.

“Natalya’s flowers are still at her hunting lodge,” he said. “Yekateryna tends them. Anatoli and his wife are in Moscow, and Yakov and his children and their children and so on are on Mars. My wife is in Kansas, with her parents.”

Nikolaus always forgot that _Dyadya_ Vanya had been married to a human woman, once. He barely ever talked about her; and he couldn’t even remember if her name had ever been mentioned in the book. A life, in America, on some farm in a small town- it just seemed so alien to his _Dyadya,_ to Marschall Braginski.

He looked back to Reut’s gravestone. It was one thing for _Elti_ ’s _Vati_ to have his here, but-

“She should have been in Hafen Matlock,” Nikolaus said. “She _should_ have been. Here isn’t really home. It’s got _Elti_ and Arik and Isolde and you, but she never _lived_ here.”

“If she could have been in Hafen Matlock,” _Dyadya_ Vanya said. “She would not be dead.”

“And its,” Nikolaus continued, feeling frustrated suddenly. He hadn’t felt much of anything when he heard Reut had died, or really at the ceremony. But now it all just seemed _wrong._ “It’s been _five years, Dyadya,_ and they’re _still_ haggling over Iohines and Qecarro and the border defenses have been all built up and the _Großjagdsreich_ has its own fleet, that’s not the Hunt’s, and kind of our own army, but why can’t they just really sit down and talk and _solve it_ already? It shouldn’t be this _hard!_ ”

_Dyadya_ Vanya put an arm around his shoulder.

“War is always hard,” he said to Nikolaus. “But a cold war is harder.”

* * *

One year turned into five turned into ten turned into fifteen as diplomacy tried and failed and tried again, never really able to overcome its terrible start. There was intermittent shooting at the borders, not ever really a war not even battles, just little skirmishes when one side or the other got too close and things were tense enough. There was some flow of communication and goods, but nearly anything like pre-war levels.

Iran and her propaganda machine worked steadily through it.

The IRC formed, the logic went, because they felt Earth had a hegemony. So the colony planets should be allowed to have more of their own power- no more UN _and_ CSC. One organization, one group, one overarching government.

The war, never technically ended, kept Earth locked into her sixteen regional divisions, and she was sure to spread the right words- a couple of comments here, a whisper there, sow a little doubt, spread a little money around to have people write what you wanted everyone else to hear.

Earth had been weak, they said over here. Earth hadn’t been able to cooperate under external threat. What if it was the Pict next time?

Weren’t the planetary governments convenient? she had others say over there. Weren’t they _grand?_ Weren’t they powerful? Imagine having that much influence. Imagine having that many resources. The countries had already been falling together before this war.

Consolidate, she heard people murmur to each other, and smiled. Consolidate. Consolidate.

The IRC is one government, she made sure to say. They’re the overarching organizing force. I always feel a bit like I’m representing the rabble whenever I go to talk to them, or Venice, or the _Großjagdsreich,_ or sit in on things with the Pict. They have their acts together, and they know it. We are all so _divided,_ here.

The other Nations, the ones she hadn’t picked, fumed in silence and watched as their people deserted them, mentally, emotionally.

_Consolidation,_ they thought, bitterly.

When a coalition of planetary governments and Earth governments- a point of pride, _none_ of them were the from the countries Iran had put in the position of regional authority, she had done her job well- came to the international council and proposed a consolidated over-empire, to manage the individual states and planets- who could as they liked with _their_ governments! they were hasty to point out- Iran didn’t gloat.

She sat and was quietly satisfied.

She had won.

* * *

No one was quite sure if the haggling over the specifics of the Imperial Human State had caused the International Republican Confederacy to finally settle terms with the Hunt, or if the talent and determination of the diplomats had finally carried through in time to make it a coincidence.

It was probably a little of both.

The Hunt was returned the remains of their dead Jäger, when their whereabouts were known, for a proper burial, and the Republicans publically denounced the _Ligwyr_ and the _Distawydwr._ The Hunt was given formal permission to come and revenge itself, and this Hunt lasted two entire days without rest. When it was over, Aphwhion had no intelligent life left on its surface.

The Republicans got the empty planet. No one in the _Großjagdsreich_ wanted to move there.

Trade and travel restrictions loosened, but not to the point they had been at before the war. There was a definite barrier now, _Großjagdsreich_ and Second Republic of Venice and Imperials and Republicans.

There were little fights- on Earth, Israel and the Vatican refused incorporation twelve times apiece on religious grounds, until everyone else moved on without them. Martinach-Liechtenstein, Rome, and Venice had already been lost causes, so no one minded them not being involved. Genov, Lonia, Aizuasleron, and three other planets also refused incorporation, choosing to maintain their independence from everyone.

The Hunt had a mass recruitment, their third since Teufelmörder’s appointment, this time to staff the new restructuring. _Großjagdsreich_ territories upgraded from garrisons to bases, little towns-in-towns of Jäger in the style of the Jagdberg in Martigny; while cooperation from the war carried over into the new structure of the Imperial Human State to form a new sort of police force- part Jäger, part traditional police, part military.

_“State security,”_ Marschall Braginski was known to murmur in the vicinity of General Beilschmidt, on multiple occasions.

The General, now officially in charge of the armed forces, the police, and the intelligence service- though distinctions had started to get blurry- grit his teeth and glared at the wall.

The Second Republic of Venice kept their Hunt garrisons, and with the Republicans- well, diplomacy would eventually answer that question. No one seemed quite willing to resurrect the Oversight Committees, but it was silently- if grudgingly- accepted that they’d have to have _some_ sort of presence, if only to monitor Republicans’ magic-users and Nations.

The war wasn’t over, not yet, but-

It was over.

* * *

The Imperial Human State was _‘Imperial’_ because multiple planets was too small for any word but _‘Empire’,_ and it was _‘Human’_ because though it might not have held _all_ humans, it was a statement of purpose.

There was no coronation on this day in 2448, exactly sixteen years to the day the Republicans had started the war to secede. The Jagdsprinz hadn’t had a coronation upon her promotion to Emperor, after all; and the Imperial Human State was still entirely too democratic in its constituent parts to easily stomach such a piece of theater.

_‘Imperial in power, not form’_ , was the media catchphrase lately.

Oh, she was officially _‘Empress of Forouzandeh Qazai, Razanás Humanity Imperial’_ , but it was to be a title without most of the pomp and ceremony.

She was fine with that. Accrue the real, exercisable power, political and economic and social, and the trappings would follow after. They were less important, but for state instances.

The signing of the Constitution of the Imperial Human State was done on Helike, chosen for its proliferation of lightspeed lane connections and having the important distinction of _not_ being Earth or Haero, and it’s location on the other side of Imperial space than the Republicans.

All sixteen of the Earth regions she’d drafted so long ago- Governates, now, under their Nations, just as all planets besides Earth had Governors for their highest executive official- were in attendance, and the other thirty-one extraterrestrial Nations.

Dietrich- Europe, now- was being very solicitous of Isolde, in a charming, romantic way. It was quite sweet, and the Jagdsprinz was doing an admirable job of totally ignoring both of them, and Venice as well. The two of them had been invited as part of the esteemed foreign witnesses area of the guest list, though of course the Jagdsprinz’s presence would have been required regardless.

The Earth Nations who hadn’t been included in her plan had been politely and punctually issued invitations, as well- but to a one, they had all declined to show. Presumably they had things they felt were more important to do in the last few hours of their lives.

The Jagdsprinz was going to be very busy, soon. Forouzandeh would be surprised if she stayed longer than fifteen minutes past the conclusion of the signing.

The other forty-seven Nations were to sign the Constitution into law for their countries before she put hers down, at the bottom, as the new state being convened. They were on the forty-fifth now.

Her General was standing off in by the wall, unobtrusively, in his new light grey dress uniform as commander of all the armed forces and the police, decoratively done up in gold and silver. He was watching Dietrich and Isolde.

Forouzandeh caught his eye, and he straightened up just a little bit more, impossibly. She slid her gaze over to the treaty signing table for a moment, then to Dietrich, and gave him a tiny smile.

Gilbert gave her a stiff nod in return, jaw set. All the promises had been kept- now, he was _hers._

When Forouzandeh signed the treaty, she didn’t let her hands shake. Her signature at the bottom was strong and quick, confident, bold. The pen was set down with a decisive click, and she looked around at the Nations who had now all committeed to following her, and graced them all with a large smile.

She was where she belonged- right at the top.


	10. Nia, Liesl, and Odette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jemsquash asked me for a character list, so if you're lost, you can find most of the people you need to remember here: http://siphilemon.tumblr.com/post/124199801653/i-was-asked-for-a-character-list
> 
> I will probably update it as I move into the next story and a couple new characters get introduced; and I'll provide the link again when that happens.

Nia remembered that the week that Zell had run off at sixteen to Paris after going to Dachau, not even a year yet since their parents had become Nations again and only a few months after Zell herself had been jumped by Neo-Nazis when she was out in Berlin, she and Heinrich had been twelve and doing their best to cope with it all. 2025 had not been a good year, and everything had felt like it was falling apart because Venice had run back to his city in panic when the re-Nationing happened and no one had been _really_ sure if he was ever coming back; and now Zell had run away and _Vati_ had gone all silent and still and in pain again, except now she and Heinrich weren’t just seeing it, they were _feeling_ it, too, because _Vati_ was Germany again.

Heinrich had barely managed to sleep at night and checked out books about Nazis and the Holocaust and Judaism out at the public library and snuck them into the house, desperately tearing through them, looking for answers. Later, he’d tell her and Zell that this was where his conversion had started- reading a translation of the Torah in his closet with a little flashlight and trying not to make any noise while he cried because he didn’t _understand_ how their family could have been involved in killing people because they believed in words that weren’t really that different than the ones they’d been hearing in Church their entire lives. This fact, Heinrich had taken to his grave without ever telling their parents or their uncle, not wanting to hurt them.

Nia had opened her history textbook to the part where it said that an estimated eleven million people had been killed in the concentration camps, six million of them Jews, and gone to ask her _Vati_ if he knew the exact the numbers. She’d started sobbing uncontrollably when she felt how that question made her father feel- _griefregretpainchokingonselfloathing-_ and thrown herself at him for a hug, not really hearing when he told her he was the only person who knew _exactly_ how many people the Nazis had killed. None of them- Germany, Venice, Prussia- had ever pretended to them that they’d been innocents in the war, even if they’d never given details, but hearing it wasn’t the same as _this._ Nazis were the people who’d started a war a hundred years ago and tried to kill Zell just because she was out walking and looked Turkish. Her family loved her and her brother and her sister and didn’t go around trying to kill people or steal their things or graffiti their houses and shops- they weren’t _really_ Nazis, they _couldn’t_ be, they’d just had to live with the name for a while.

2025 had been one sort of disillusionment.

Becoming Jagdsprinz was another one.

Now, in 2735, Nia had some six hundred and eighty-something years of shaking in the dark, coming out of her only recurring nightmare- Germany dead at her feet and herself viciously satisfied with her work, because she had seen his soul and knew he _deserved_ to die and worse, because this was the most he could give to repay the lives he’d destroyed and it wasn’t enough, but it was a sort of justice and she had _done her job._

 _‘I was only doing my job’-_ the words whispered out of the history books she’d had to read in the school and in the slow, sorrowful, gentle lectures their father had given about morals and your _real_ duty, the ones he gave with a resigned despair like he was adding them up as penance in his head while he spoke and _knew_ they weren’t enough.

When she had been new to being Jagdsprinz and new to the nightmares, she’d get out of bed and go to watch Arik sleeping in his crib, and wonder if her _Vati_ had ever had nightmares about _them_ dead at his feet, and feeling righteous about the Fatherland because they were sub-human, polluted genetics and Jewish-Italian-Turkish-queer _filth_ who _deserved_ to die so his more worthy children, his Nazi-definition-of-Aryan people, could thrive.

 It had been easy to kill Venice, because she had been so angry about _Vati_ and she was living high and strong on the Jagdsprinz’s power, but even more because she’d _looked_ at him then- looked at _all_ of them, all the Nations, the ones she thought of as family and the ones who were just her parents’ friends or the ones Zell talked about when her work got brought up and-

 _You were supposed to be **better** than this! _ she’d wanted to scream at them, somewhere under the Jagdsprinz’s power that showed her everything they’d _done_. _You were supposed to be **better** than this we **trusted** you-!_

She’d wanted to put her sword to all of them, leave them bleeding out; she’d wanted to drop her sword and beat them until all their bones broke and their ribs cracked and their skulls caved in; she’d wanted to tear their throats and their guts and their hearts out, and throw the names of everyone _they’d_ ever killed or hurt or destroyed back in their faces so they _knew_ why this was happening-

But she’d had a demon to kill, so she’d slit Venice’s throat and promised herself that she’d never forgive him, never forgive Prussia.

Nia had had people ask her, over the centuries, why she just _wouldn’t stop **fighting**_ with the people who had once been her family- less, as the years went on and she passed from a figure of curiosity to respect to fearful awe approaching mythic status, but every so often Nico or Ivan or Diana would look at her before she went out to something where she _had_ to interact with either Venice or Prussia, and just look kind of sad. Nico usually sighed loudly, too, because he was a bit of an optimist.

They all thought it was about Germany, about her father; and it _was_ because she wasn’t going to forgive them for what they did, but-

She could yell about _Vati_ whenever she saw Venice or Prussia, and they could yell back, and they could follow the centuries-old script and say exactly the same things in slightly different words and a slightly different order than they had the last time, or-

Or she could look Prussia across the table and hate him for the death orders and the work orders and the transportation orders he’d signed in the concentration camps so his brother didn’t have to; or the people he’d killed in the Crusades, in the Levant and in the Baltic, just because they weren’t Christian. She could stare Venice down and spit vitriol at her for all the people she’d happily slaughtered to stay in power, or trying to get back into it, human and Nation alike.

 _Vati_ was safer- they all knew where they stood with _Vati._ Going off about any of the other issues, the other things they were responsible for- _Vati_ was safer.

Nia knew very well that she was bitter, and that she was angry.

It was just that it had burned; once. The fire and bite of it had gotten Nysa rebuilt, and the Hunt reconstructed, and Martinach founded and the Italian Civil War stopped and the planets settled and the ranks of the Jäger expanded and expanded and expanded and made her Emperor of an empire that spanned ten planets fourteen still-technically-separate political entities spread through two different planes of existence, the final judge of international law and one of the most influential people in the entirety of the known universe as the sole and unfettered ruler of one of the four largest and most powerful human states and Jagdsprinz besides.

Her fury and her hate had been her power, once.

Now it just kind of sat, tired and listless, like a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach and in the bottom of her lungs.

“What are you supposed to do when you don’t want to be angry anymore?” she asked Ivan, because Ivan had had lifetimes of experience with anger and bitterness, fury and hatred born of betrayal; but now it had been centuries since he’d had frequent cause for anything but contentedness and quiet satisfaction, little everyday joys and feeling safe, secure, loved.

“What?” he asked.

They were in a meeting. This was a general staff meeting, the quarterly one, where they reviewed the Hunt’s point of view on the state of the entire galaxy, Earth-side and Honalee-side.

“No, just- never mind,” Nia said. “It’s not really important.”

* * *

Liesl came out to see Marlies and Philipp and Chénguāng in Takama-ga-hara at least once every couple of years. She’d changed the schedule a little bit this time, though, because 2700 was the six hundred year anniversary of Philipp and Chénguāng’s marriage, and the Hour’s War of the Danish Succession.

Calling it _‘the Hour’s War of the Danish Succession’_ was really too grandiose a title for the whole damn affair, but that was what the newspaper wags back in 2100 had decided to call it at the time, and it had stuck.

The whole thing had been a sad, ridiculous mess. Marlies and Ulrik had had three sons- eldest Philipp Ludwig, middle Christian Wilhelm, and youngest Erik Joseph- and two thrones to divide amongst them. It should have worked.

But Philipp and Chénguāng had eloped, despite the change to the von Liechtenstein House Law that forbade the legal heir of Liechtenstein from marrying foreign royalty, so they wouldn’t ever be stuck with passing down the thrones of two- or, God forbid, _more-_ countries to anyone ever again. Ulrik had been a very competent Hereditary Prince, and liked as King of Denmark, but two countries was a lot of work.

Ulrik had gotten to be Reigning Prince for less than two days- his mother Princess Anja had followed her late husband into death not three days after the elopement, and Ulrik had now only two sons for two thrones.

Christian Wilhelm should never have been born into a royal family. The way it should have worked was that self-aware and conscientious Philipp inherited the authority of the Prince of Liechtenstein, and relaxed and personable Erik inherited the ceremony of the King of Denmark.

Middle son Christian was terrified of authority, and responsibility; and his major flaw his whole life was that when he got scared, he got blindly, often violently, panicked. Ulrik had summoned his two eligible sons to Vaduz Castle, told them to sort out who wanted to be heir to where between them, and Christian had shot him dead.

The _murder,_ at least, had been an accident. He’d wanted to put himself out of the running completely by committing treason, and shooting his father was the only thing he could come up with in his panic.

 _“I was only going to hurt him a little!”_ Christian had shrieked at Nia, when she tried to divest him of his gun. Liesl and Mathias had called her immediately upon feeling the death of their shared monarch, hoping she could help them handle things before it turned into a political and diplomatic crisis.

Christian had then tried to shoot himself, much less successfully. Mathias had ended up dragging him out, and Christian died some decades later in a Danish prison. 

There had been no war- only a preventable tragedy.

From there it had turned into something of a farce.

Erik had been slightly hurt in the fighting- he’d tried to bowl Christian over and Christian and had knocked _him_ over instead and he’d hit his head on the table on the way down- but he had sat up very stubbornly and kingly in the room in the hospital where they’d checked him out for a concussion and told the three of them that he was going to Copenhagen just as soon as the funeral was over, _thank you very much._

“Nothing against you personally, _Tante_ Liesl,” Erik had said. “But I’d much rather be King of Denmark than Prince of Liechtenstein.”

“But you _have_ to be!” she’d exclaimed, starting to panic a little herself. If she _didn’t_ have a monarch, what was she going to _do?_ The position of Prince was a cornerstone of her national identity. She _was_ a monarchy! If she started losing herself- it hadn’t been that long ago that Sebastian and Roderich had succumbed to Dietrich, and she might like the boy but she’d set all one hundred and sixty square kilometers of her country on _fire_ before she let Dietrich take it from her. “There’s no one else!”

“Ask _Mutti,_ ” Erik told her. “Because you can’t make _me._ I’m not staying here any longer than I have to.”

So Liesl had gone to ask Marlies. Marlies had responded by running off panicked- Christian had inherited _that_ particular part of his character from the Beilschmidt-Costa genetics, unfortunately- to Kūnlún to join her son and new daughter-in-law, and become one of Empress Wángmŭ’s Court ladies.

Liesl had been left with exactly _no_ viable candidates to take up her crown, because what blood relatives Ulrik actually had were all Protestants, vocally Pan-European, or similarly ineligible or unsuitable to rule.

“It’s not at all orthodox,” Erik said when she came back to him _begging_ him to take both monarchies. “But great-grandfather changed the House Rules so _Opa_ Anja could become Princess, so why not go to _Mutti_ ’s family? There _is_ someone suitable there.”

So Liesl had gone to ask Nia.

“That has to be illegal,” her friend had said. “That’s not how succession laws work.”

“It is if we _say_ they are,” Liesl wheedled, and went to her elected government.

 _“Well,”_ the Prime Minister said, tone somewhere between unenthusiastic and considering. “She’s not a _bad_ possibility.”

Erik wrote from Copenhagen to ask Liesl why _she_ just wouldn’t take it- it was _her_ country, after all, and it wasn’t like Cuba and Venice hadn’t already done kind of the same thing.   

In the end, there was a compromise: Liesl held the country in trust for a future child or other descendant of Philipp and Chénguāng, and Nia married her for purposes of having a _‘human’_ presence to, in theory, prevent her from never giving it back.

“Still no children?” Liesl asked Philipp, today, as she arrived in Chénguāng’s personal garden attached to her quarters in the palace.

“You know,” her old prince said. “It’s been six hundred years, no one cares about the succession any longer. The Jagdsprinz is the only Prince they need- or want. There would be an uproar if we _did_ try to send a hypothetical child of ours to take over.”

“It’s still the law,” Liesl said. “Nia stayed _‘Prince Regent’_ for Liechtenstein and _‘General of the Republican Protectorate’_ of Rome even when she simplified everything else and decided on just _‘Prince’_ for everything else but the Jägerskov and _‘Emperor’_ generally. Your second child, or however it works out, gets Liechtenstein.”

“And what if we want to keep the family together?” Philipp asked. This was an old almost-argument. “Not have a handful stay alive and everyone else die? I’ve lived it, it’s stressful, and I don’t want to do that to any kids we have. More importantly, I hardly think your people would _want_ to leave the _Großjagdsreich._ ”

“They don’t _have_ to.”

“So you’d have them be a Prince or Princesses _‘ruling’_ Liechtenstein, while being subordinate to another Prince who is _also_ an Emperor? Seems like a bad deal.”

Liesl responded with the traditional closing of the argument.

“Well, your mother-in-law could use the succession secured out to three generations.”

“We’ll have kids when we feel like having kids, _Tante_ Liesl, stop worrying,” Philipp told her, and he and Chénguāng went to go pay attention to the roses and azaleas to give her some private time with his mother.

“So how has _Tante_ Nia been lately?” Marlies asked, over their tea.

“She’s been-”

She had to hesitate to find the right word.

“Moody. Brooding.”

“Angry again?” Marlies sighed in resignation.

“No, not angry,” Liesl said. “I’m not sure what her problem is, but it’s not being angry.”

“Well, _that’s_ a nice change. What about you?”

_“Tired.”_

She said it with such feeling that Marlies put down her tea and looked at her in concern.

“ _‘Tired’_ how?” she asked, sounding worried. “ _‘Tired’_ like you’re overworked, or _‘tired’_ like you’re bored, or-”

“ _‘Tired’_ like I want to _re_ tire,” Liesl told her. “I’m one thousand and nineteen this year- I’ve been in a nonromantic, sexless marriage for six hundred of those years, and technically an Empress for almost three hundred of _those._ I want a divorce, and then I want to retire.”

“Nations and Kings don’t get retirements,” Marlies said, perturbed. “They _die._ ”

 “And I’m fine with that,” Liesl said. “I wasn’t when it looked like things might fall apart six hundred years ago- I was only four hundred then, that’s like late young adulthood for a Nation. I’m comfortably in, or through, middle age; and now I’m _tired._ When the borders were redrawn to make the Governates, Dietrich _generously_ gave us all that land. Martinach is Switzerland then some- Mulhouse to Alessandria, Bourg-en-Bresse to Innsbruck, and five hundred-some kilometers of a land border with Venice. I’m still the same as I have always been, and I don’t care if Isolde gets it. I’m tired, I want out of my marriage, I miss my brother, and she’ll take good care of them.”

She reached over to take Marlies’s hand. The woman didn’t look at all comfortable with this discussion.

“It would be one thing if I had someone who loved me,” Liesl said. “Mathias did; but Nia doesn’t, not the same way. She also doesn’t _need_ me anymore. She needed me when she was starting out, because she had no idea about how to function in high society or _act_ like royalty, but she’s learned it now. What I’m left with is holding Court in Vaduz and operating the high society circuit, because the only life Nia thinks she needs is work and occasional vacations for her children, or a free night for dinner with friends. If I left it up to her, there would never be another society event in the entire Empire and no Court. She _knows_ they’re good for her, but she doesn’t _understand_ how much she needs them.”

“But do you have to _die_ to get out of it?” Marlies asked.

“Find a replacement, you mean? That isn’t done, Marlies, and you know it. The only acceptable replacement guests or hosts for royalty are other royalty. If Arik wasn’t Jäger, he could do it. Isolde could do some of it, but she’s been raised in hands-on government, and she wouldn’t choose to change full-time government work as a Nation for full-time society work. Michele wouldn’t do it, and isn’t as well suited for it as either of them. No one else has enough prestige; and everyone else Nia’s related to are dead or in the Hunt. So unless I could convince _you-_ ”

“You couldn’t, Liesl,” Marlies said. “I’m sorry, I know you want to leave, but I have my place here. This is where Philipp is, and I’m just about the closest thing Wángmŭ has to a best friend. She _trusts_ me.”

“And you shouldn’t break that,” Liesl agreed. “But there’s no one else to take Court and society unless we have children, and they end up otherwise unengaged; or Nia divorces me and marries someone else.”

“I don’t think _Tante_ Nia is really into marrying people,” Marlies said doubtfully. “She only married _you_ because you and Erik insisted.”

“I know that the popular theory is that she’s aromantic,” she said. “Given she’s never shown any interest in anyone. And that might be- but she’s so much like her father in other things, and _Germany_ never noticed anyone until Feliciano happened to him; and I have no doubt that if it had been _Feliciano_ who died in 2048, Ludwig wouldn’t have noticed anyone since. Somewhere, there might be _one_ person she’d fall in love with, and then _they_ could take over Court duties.”

“Oh God, Liesl, _no,_ ” Marlies begged. “Don’t try to match-make _Tante_ Nia. You’re _married;_ you know _exactly_ how she’d react to that.”

“I’m not asking her to have an _affair,_ ” Liesl pointed out. “Not that I’d _mind_ very much if she did, though. She’d be a lot happier if she only loved people other than her children. Platonic, romantic, what _ever._ Just _other people._ I wouldn’t _mind_ it being me, but I really doubt it is.”

“But what if it’s _Ivan?_ ” Marlies asked. “You tell me all the time that they _act_ like they could be married. Or _Nico._ Ivan would be a _terrible_ society host. Nico wouldn’t be that much better.”

“If she fell in love with Nico,” Liesl said. “Then obviously there’d be a three-way marriage with her and him and Diana, and _Diana_ could do it. It’s not that much different than what she’s been unofficially doing ever since she joined. And I think Ivan would surprise you. He did have his own Imperial court once.”

“It’s still a bad idea and you shouldn’t do it.”

“Our marriage has been slowly ruining our friendship and I’d like to be out of it before I can’t stand the sight of her any longer. Neither of us deserve that happening.”

“At least divorce her _first,_ then,” Marlies pleaded.

“You think she’s not the marrying sort,” Liesl said. “While I _know_ she’s not the divorcing sort. She made her vows, and it will take something like falling in love to give her a good enough reason to think it’s time to leave.”

“You _asking_ isn’t going to be enough?”

“I already did,” Liesl told her. “Nia was confused why I’d care about getting a divorce, since _‘we’ve never acted much like we’ve been married anyway’_.”

Marlies buried her face in her hands.

 _“Tante,”_ she moaned.

“Anyway,” Liesl continued. “It would be irresponsible of me to seriously try to divorce her without someone else lined up to take over Court and society duties. I certainly couldn’t stick around doing it once we were _divorced._ It wouldn’t look proper.”

“Well could you find someone to do it _without_ trying to get her involved with someone else?” Marlies asked. “So you could retire once you talk _Tante_ around?”

“I thought about hiring some human to do it,” Liesl sighed. “And there are some people who _would_ do a good job at it, but they’re not politically appropriate, or have enough social authority or connections. You were my last chance, Marlies.”

“Well did you ask Odette?” Marlies wanted to know.

 _That_ pulled her up short.

“What?”

“She’s not related to Nia,” Marlies said. “But they _are_ friends. Odette might not be Princess of the Tylwyth Teg anymore, but she _was;_ and she’s still Lady of Graig Bryn Du, and Queen Nicnevin’s granddaughter, and trained to do things like hold Court and have high society parties.”

“You don’t think it would be rude?” Liesl asked. “Asking her to do what she was trained to do for herself one day for someone else?”

“I think it would be a smart move for you, and a nice thing for her,” Marlies told her. “She spent so much of her life developing those skills, and they’ve been going to waste since her parents died. I think it would make her happy.”

* * *

Odette was currently on one of her _‘off’_ periods- living on and managing her estate, instead of teaching at a university. She was almost always at the Fürsten-Universität when she was teaching, but she’d been to a number of other planets, teaching at institutions of higher learning both prestigious and fair-but-not-famous- most lately, she had held a professorship for a few years at the Imperial College on Helike.

She actually had a letter from them today, in official stationery and envelope, asking her if and when she’d consider coming back.

A short told them that no, she had some years left in her traditional teaching break, but she’d be happy to consider coming back in another ten years or so, if they’d still have her. They _would_ have her, of course, but it was polite to pretend otherwise.

All that was left now was the more interesting mail.

One was a letter from Nia. This wasn’t unexpected- the Jagdsprinz had started writing her in the wake of her parent’s death, and then it had gotten less and less formal as she kept it up through the frustration of not being allowed back on the front lines of the war. By the time it had ended, the letters had become habit and they had become friends.

The other letter was from Liesl, which was exceedingly strange. She _knew_ Nia’s wife, of course, but they didn’t know each other so well that she’d have reason to write a personal letter. Handwritten invitations, yes, she was important enough for that it had happened multiple times before- but not an actual _letter._

Nia’s letter could wait a little. _This_ was a mystery.

 _‘To Odette von Rothbart ap Ly, Lady of Graig Bryn Du,’_ Liesl’s letter began.

Rather formal, for what she’d been thinking was a personal letter.

_‘I hope this letter finds you in good spirits; certainly, better spirits than mine.’_

Oh?

_‘I find myself growing tired and weary of ruling and life.’_

Oh dear. She’d been around Nations and _Seelenkind_ long enough to know what that sort of fatigue meant. Every so often, Odette _had_ wondered if Martinach-Liechtenstein was in danger of becoming just Martinach, since the two Principalities weren’t at all on equal terms of power and physical space any longer. Historically, she knew, jointly-held countries fell apart, or one melted into the other.

It seemed like Liechtenstein might finally be sliding towards the latter.

_‘Handling the social aspects of the Empire and holding Court for the Jagdsprinz and the Jägerskov is the majority of my job, now, and I cannot in good consciousness simply retire and abandon it. You know Nia- she’d let the whole thing fall to ruin and then get blindsided when suddenly there aren’t the right social connections in place to keep her government running smoothly. She’s good at a very specific sort of politics, namely the kind where everyone is very serious and there’s no tolerance for parties just to have a party or people with wealth or social standing actually **using** it for anything. She made herself an Emperor and yet she’s **still** so stubbornly republican-minded. It will be a miracle if anyone ever breaks her of it and she finally realizes that ‘hard work’ just doesn’t look the same for the rich and the high society as it does for people who get paid to come into an office or a job site every weekday. Just as much can get done around expensive wine and a midnight dance as can be in a committee meeting, and yet she won’t accept that.’_

This was unfortunately very true, though Odette herself would have put more qualifiers on the _‘just as much’_ part. It depended entirely on the makeup of the party, and the conversation happening. Two hours of politics was a lot different than two hours of gossip; except when they were the same thing.

_‘I blame her father. Germany was terrible at parties, too. It was always Venice who went around being charming and chatting people up. Ludwig would sit with my brother and they’d talk very earnestly and seriously about the potential repercussions in the fluctuations of the global stock market- not that **other** people weren’t doing the same thing, but no one else managed to be nearly as **boring** about it. I can’t recall either of them ever making even a light joke while discussing business._

_I clearly can’t entrust Nia with running her own Empire’s social life, so I need someone competent to take it over from me- charming, personable, but who knows when the mood needs to be light or serious, and whom you can measure their disapproval by their level of politeness. Refined, not snooty; appropriately, naturally regal, not overbearing. I was discussing it with Marlies, and your name came up.’_

_‘So if you would like to try out the position, there are some upcoming events that we can test it with. You can come and not take the job, and if you do I fully intend to ease you and everyone else into it. Should you wish to try, simply send a message ahead and I will make space in Vaduz ready for you.’_

That was quite generous-

_‘There is also a matter concerning Nia to discuss, but details should be saved for your personal presence.’_

Well, that didn’t sound very good at all.

_‘With well-wishes,_

_Liesl Hohenheim Zürcher, Razanás Liechtenstein, Empress of the Großjagdsreich, Princess Regent of Liechtenstein, Queen and Princess Consort v.d.a.’_

 Reasonably, Nia’s letter would be on the same topic, or perhaps explaining Liesl’s _‘matter concerning’_ her, but-

_‘Odette- I think I might be done being angry at Venice and Prussia. What am I supposed to **do?** I don’t know how **not** to hate them anymore.’_

-that didn’t seem to be the case at all.

Apparently, she was needed for more than her high society skills.

* * *

Sudden self-insight was supposed to make everything fall into place, but now that she’d admitted to herself that she didn’t _want_ to be angry anymore, Nia just felt incredibly uncomfortable.

She’d been angry for almost seven centuries, now- people _expected_ her to be angry. _She_ expected herself to be angry. It _felt **wrong**_ to think about Venice, or Prussia, and just feel _exhausted_ instead.

Anger still came- she’d tried, to reassure herself that she could, but it was _work_ where it had been so easy before, and it had fizzled out after maybe a minute and left her feeling _worse._

People were starting to notice something had changed.

Ivan kept _staring_ at her whenever they were around each other. He hadn’t said anything yet, but she _knew_ he hadn’t forgotten the question she’d asked at the quarterly meeting, when she’d first realized something was wrong.

Nico had taken to copying out _‘inspiring quotes’_ onto the margins of things he sent her, or attaching sticky notes or comments with the same. She wasn’t exactly sure what he thought was wrong, because the quotes seemed to be trying to cover every eventuality.

They were kind of nice, though, and she saved them all.

Diana kept leaving her chocolate, and Lord Hiruz was very blatantly trying to take on most of her workload and make her take a long vacation. She insisted that she didn’t _want_ a long vacation- in fact she didn’t want _or_ need _any_ sort of vacation- but he ignored her and kept making comments about how the flower prairies on Uxcilia were blooming this time of year and there were hardly any tourists on Oskapus and the manor retreat on Aostarth hadn’t been visited in a few months and how very far away Docury was from everything else.

Isolde kept giving her hugs, and Nia couldn’t remember the last time she’d known that her daughter was slipping away to see Dietrich.

And she was very happy not to know that Isolde was doing that, but she hadn’t actively tried to hide it since Nia had found out about it. It wasn’t-

Dietrich made Isolde happy, and Isolde made Dietrich happy, and Dietrich was _not_ her _Vati;_ but it was still-

Dietrich was still, in an extremely technical and narrowly-defined biological sense, her father; and Isolde was very much her daughter. She’d tried to get rid of the little voice that whispered _‘incest’_ to her whenever she saw them together, but it hadn’t left yet.

If she’d _had_ to lose something, why couldn’t it have been _that,_ and not her anger?

* * *

Odette had serious misgivings about _Razanás_ Liechtenstein’s plan to match-make her spouse.

“Nia attends a certain set of functions each year,” she’d told Odette, after explaining _why_ she was trying to match-make. “I can convince her to come to a couple more, and for each event I want to make sure there’s someone who might be compatible with her to steer her towards. Hopefully, she’ll find someone she wants to see again.”

This whole thing seemed like a lot of wishful thinking to Odette, but finding people at Court and at high society functions, and making sure that Nia was introduced to them and encouraged to stick around them for the night, _was_ actually a good idea.

Just, it was a good idea for political reasons, not relationship ones. Maybe if she started meeting people who got along with her, and matched her personality, she’d start thinking of the high society movers and shakers as _people,_ potential political contacts and allies, instead of a vague stereotype about the rich and useless.

The upcoming event was one internal to the _Großjagdsreich-_ the anniversary of the Hunt that killed Mephistopheles. This was a mixed blessing, because celebrating the anniversary was something she knew Nia wasn’t particularly comfortable with. She could handle the idea of praise and celebration of herself in an abstract way, or when it was specifically about the Jagdsprinz; but Mephistopheles was _her._ It was one of the most personal things she’d ever done, and the idea that other people would decide to have a party commemorating it, even if it was an important historical moment, made her squirm inside.

On the upside, since it was so closely connected to the Hunt, the party was held in the Jagdshall, which put a low cap on the number of guests that could be invited. It wouldn’t be a large party, and Nia would be in her own home. Hopefully, the familiar surroundings would keep her from disengaging _too_ much.

Odette would have to find a social partner for the night to keep her similarly engaged.

* * *

Nia had nothing against Ségolène Gehring, the daughter of her _Président d’État-_

But she was being kind of annoying tonight, what with the _not leaving_ even though _she_ was trying to get away from the party.

“Did Liesl tell you to babysit me?” she finally demanded. “I don’t need a chaperone- I’m not as hopeless in social situations as she thinks I am.”

“I’m only supposed to keep you company, Your Majesty,” Ségolène said. “And it wasn’t your wife- Lady von Rothbart is the one who asked me to.”

“ _Please_ don’t follow me this time,” Nia told her, and went to steal Odette out of her conversation.

“Why did you _assign_ me company for the evening?”

“It was your wife’s idea, Nia,” Odette told her. “She thought it would be good for people you get along with to be around you at parties.”

“So she asked _you_ to pass that along? As conspiracies to avoid having to tell me the truth go, I’ve seen a lot better.”

“Nia,” Odette said. “You realize _I’m_ the one in charge of this party, right?”

“You’re _what?_ ” Nia asked, after quickly double-checking to make sure she hadn’t lied in the process of telling a joke. “Since _when?_ ”

Odette took her lightly by the elbow for a few moments, just long enough to get her point across that she was trying to walk them out of the Court Gallery. Nia was perfectly happy to leave the room for the gardens out back.

“ _Razanás_ Liechtenstein hired me to start handling the Court and high society functions,” she said as they left the paved porch and descended into the grass, leaving the warm lights of the Court Gallery behind. “She’s _tired,_ Nia.”

 _‘Of what?’_ she almost asked, and then the significance of the emphasis caught up to her.

“Wait,” Nia said. “ _Tired-_ tired?”

Odette nodded.

That was certainly some news, but the longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. Martinach and Liechtenstein had been functioning as one country for so long that it was obvious, now, in hindsight, that they’d fall together now that they were a contiguous territory, instead of being divided by an expanse of a foreign country.

She checked the idea of _‘Liesl is dying’_ against the part of her that _knew_ these things about Nations, and- it was definitely true.

Nia didn’t think she was supposed to be relieved that her daughter wasn’t going to die for a unified country, at least not without more grief at the thought that her wife was going to do it instead.

“I should probably talk to her about that.”

“You should,” Odette agreed. “But not at a party. That’s something you want to do in private.”

They’d walked out to the fountain on the edge of the forest by habit. It was the best seating in the garden, and they both knew it. They sat side-by-side on the basin edge, listening to the dark.

“Nia,” Odette said. “About the letter you wrote-”

Oh, hell. She’d _known_ she’d been forgetting something. She _had_ written Odette in a fit of emotional honesty.

“Did you ever forgive the people who killed your parents?” she asked.

Odette had to think about it for a minute.

“I’m not sure I have,” she eventually said. “I mean, they killed my _parents,_ because they were- they were violent traitorous bigots; and- they drove me out of my _home!_ ”

Nia’s follow-up question had been going to be _‘Are you still angry at them?’,_ but Odette still seemed pretty angry.

“Say they miraculously came back to life,” she said instead. “What would you do to them?”

“Nothing,” was the answer, immediately.

_“Nothing?”_

“Well, I’d be upset,” Odette said. “I still miss my parents, and I’m still mad when I actually think about how I had to give up my position because people like _them_ exist, but I’m not bitter about it. I wouldn’t actually do anything to them, except probably call you to come arrest them again.”

“But you _were_ bitter about it at some point, right?” Nia asked. They’d taken so much from her that she _had_ to have felt something like that at least _once._

“I never really was about having to abdicate,” Odette told her. “Mostly I was just sad, at the time, because I was losing so much of life at once. I _was_ bitter about my parents for a while, but it went away.”

“I don’t understand,” Nia admitted to her. “How you- or anybody- can just move past something like that.”

“That’s because you internalized yours, Nia,” Odette said. “You got angry and then you turned _‘being angry’_ into part of your identity.”

* * *

Liesl had expected Ségolène to work out better, since she and Nia had already known each other, but it hadn’t really worked out the way she had expected. She needed someone who would take the request to _‘keep the Jagdsprinz company’_ less rigidly.

The next big event was the commemoratory celebration of the end of the War of the Republican Secession, one of the few times that officials from the Imperial Human State and the Republican Confederacy were in the same room socially. It wouldn’t really do to favor one over the other, so she looked to the Independent Powers to find someone for her spouse.

Freiezuno’s current Governor, Izabed Edvardev Saab, was single. She had a reputation as a very formidable personality- a requirement, when you were ruling the planet where the majority of trade between the Human Empire and the Republican Confederacy was conducted.

The politics of it might get a little sensitive, but the Hunt _did_ already have a large presence there, and the Jagdsprinz having a more personal stake in relations between the Empire and the Confederacy certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing.

She wrote a note to her secretary to ask them to find out what sort of things Izabed liked. If nothing else, Vasco Agresta was the Zauber Leutnant in the capital; and there was always Edward Kirkland-Héderváry to consider, who’d been working for Izabed ever since she stopped being his apprentice- Nia and Izabed could talk about family.

* * *

It had taken some quiet, firm persistence on Odette’s part to get Nia here, but here she was.

She’d found she was unable to approach it head-on, and sort of forced herself to sidle around it. She went down to Rome for the perfectly legitimate reason of talking to the Senate, and had lunch with Michele and Constantin Garfagnini ou Alkuone, the Senate President, and then- very naturally, you couldn’t even call the decision she’d made to go _‘planning’-_ went to the Vatican to visit her uncle.

Cristoforo was only a little surprised to see her, because she usually stopped by to at least say hello when she was in the city.

He asked her how she’d been, just like she’d known he would because that’s what he did every time they saw each other. She was Jagdsprinz and her duty was only executable so long as her reputation was intact, and her reputation relied on her actions, and so she didn’t lie.

“I’ve been terrible, _Zio_ Cris,” she told him. “I’m feeling conflicted. I don’t _want_ to be angry anymore, and I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m saying _‘want’_ instead of _‘I’m **not** angry anymore’ _is because I don’t know how to stop _expecting_ to be angry and almost forcing myself to be; but _do_ still sort of want to be angry because I _won’t_ forgive Venice and Prussia. I _can’t;_ and doesn’t not being angry at them anymore mean I’ve forgiven them?”

Cristoforo looked at her for a long, long moment, and then reached up to cup her face in his hands.

“Nia,” he told her. “What you are feeling is called _‘moving on’;_ and I am _so_ glad you have finally arrived at this point.”

“ _Zio_ Cris!” she protested, vaguely embarrassed.

He let go of her, and leaned back.

“Nia,” he said. “Do you actually know what _‘forgiveness’_ is?”

“It means it doesn’t matter to me any longer what they did.”

“No,” Cristoforo told her. “ _‘Forgiveness’_ means that you have decided that you are not going to hurt anyone over the wrong that was done to you any longer- the people who did it, _and_ yourself. It does not mean that you are done talking about it, or that you agree with what they did, or that they were not wrong.”

“It doesn’t _feel_ like that, _Zio._ ”

“Well,” he said. “Can you understand it in the context of your power as Jagdsprinz? What does the forgiveness ritual do?”

“It tells me- the Jagdsprinz, the Jagdsprinz’s power- that a person who is owed a debt formally considers it repaid,” Nia answered.

“And does it mean that the debt was never incurred?”

“No. I can still see it when I look at them, I just know there’s nothing for me to extract payment for. Not for _that,_ anyway.”

“So then would it not follow,” Cristoforo said. “That the more mundane sort of forgiveness means nothing more?”

Nia thought about it.

“Hm,” she eventually said.

“Why don’t you think you can forgive them?” he asked.

She almost responded without thinking.

She had her mouth open to say _‘because if I forgive them on this then I’ll have to forgive them for the **rest** of the people they’ve killed’_-

But she looked at her _Zio_ Cris and saw the Vatican’s, the Catholic Church’s, the Papal State’s centuries of hurting people in the name of God and the cause of Christianity, and stopped.

He didn’t need to hear that.

“Because if I forgive them then I’m _giving in,_ ” was both easier and harder to admit. “If I forgive them then I’m saying that losing _Vati_ doesn’t matter as much to me as it used to, but it _does._ If I hadn’t lost him, I wouldn’t be Jagdsprinz and there wouldn’t have been a German Lands and there wouldn’t be a whole _lot_ of things, namely just about everything that exists right now.”

“ _‘Giving in’_?” he asked.

“I- I’d be changing something,” Nia explained. “About how I am, because of _them. For_ them. They don’t deserve that. They don’t get that.”

“Nia,” Cristoforo said. “You lost that battle when you stayed so angry for so long that you can sit here and tell me that your anger at them and the things you have done to them in anger is so much a part of you that you would rather keep it than change. You lost that battle in the instant you stopped treating them like you loved them.”

“But I _don’t_ want to keep my anger!” she insisted. “It- being angry used to _help_ me, _Zio_ Cris, it used to _drive_ me. But now I’m just _tired,_ and thinking about being around them just makes me feel _exhausted,_ because the anger isn’t burning anymore, it’s just _sitting there_ being heavy- I’m not even sure it _is_ anger anymore!”

“Regret?” Cristoforo suggested.

_“No.”_

“Why would being around them be exhausting if you aren’t even angry any longer?” he asked, instead of trying to convince her otherwise.

“Because I’m _supposed_ to be angry!” Nia exclaimed.

“And why are you _‘supposed’_ to be angry?”

“Because- because I’ve _always_ been angry at them! Because when we’re in the same room together, everyone else is just _waiting_ for one of us to start yelling! Because the couple of times that I’ve managed to sit with Prussia in a meeting about the police and we managed not to be overtly rude to each other, people asked us if we were **_feeling_** _**okay!**_ ”

He sighed.

“Nia- being angry at other people and hurting them because it’s what is _expected_ of you is an _incredibly_ unhealthy and damaging standard to hold yourself to.”

“I _know_ that!” she told him. “And I’m more angry at _myself_ for not being able to get out of it than I am about anything _else_ right now!”

“Come here,” Cristoforo said, and held his arms out. She leaned forward into his embrace.

“If you are truly tired of being angry,” he told her. “Then what you must do is give yourself permission to not be held to the standards you have been, and then move into the space you have opened up for yourself. Practice it. Continue with it. Eventually, the dread of it will go away.”

“Emotions are _hard,_ ” she muttered into his shoulder.

“Your father found them especially troublesome, as well.”

Nia sighed.

“Thank you, _Zio,_ ” she told him. “I’ll try.”

She gave him a hug, and got up to leave.

“Nia.”

She stopped.

“If you don’t want to call letting go of your anger _‘forgiveness’,_ ” Cristoforo said. “Then you don’t have to. But consider this- giving your forgiveness does not mean that you are saying your father matters less to you than he used to. Giving your forgiveness means that you are no longer going to hurt yourself or any of the other people he loved in his name.”

* * *

“I went to see Cristoforo,” Nia told her.

Odette didn’t look up from the invitations she was going through, to write out her personal acceptances or polite refusals. Nia was always more open about how she was feeling over letters, or between computers- anything where there was a visual disconnect between herself and the other person.

They’d get more out of this conversation if she didn’t look up.

“He said some things that were helpful,” she continued. “And I still don’t know about _forgiveness,_ but-”

Odette waited, and refused another invitation.

“-well, he said some things.”

How many of these was she _actually_ accepting? She was keeping track of dates and times to make sure that she could get to them all without stress or conflicts, but she should know the total number too.

One, two, three-

“But I couldn’t tell him everything.”

Five was probably enough, Odette decided. Maybe if any of the others were particularly outstanding, but she liked having time to herself.

“Oh?” she asked Nia, starting to clean up her papers.

“There are things,” Nia hedged. “That I can’t really say to Nations. Not even Ivan. Or- I wouldn’t tell Nico, or János, either. And probably not Lana. Or _Seelenkind_ either, I guess.”

“I’m not a Nation,” Odette pointed out. “Or _Seelenkind._ ”

There was silence as she finished putting things away. Presumably, Nia was considering this.

“You’re not,” she said decisively, and Odette looked up at her now. Her friend had gotten started, and that was the tone that meant _commitment._

“I don’t think anyone’s ever really thought about it,” Nia said. “But it’s _hard_ sometimes, to interact with other people, when you can see everything wrong that they’ve done. Sometimes I start wondering why they’d do that, or if they even know how people they’ve hurt- most people don’t realize all the little hurts they inflict, because most people are so used to them that they ignore them. But-”

Her expression twisted.

“ _Nations-_ it only applies to the old ones now, I guess, anyone older than Dietrich- they’ve hurt _so many people._ I can’t hold a conversation with any of the old ones, at least not in person, without knowing the names of everyone they’ve ever killed and how they did it and when and where and- that’s a lot of people, Odette. Even for someone like Cristoforo, who mostly stayed home and _other_ people did that. The things that people do in the official, sanctioned name of the state or the institution stay with Nations, too, even if it’s not directly their personal fault. It’s like seeing a shadow of something, instead of looking right at it.”

“That sounds really awful, Nia,” she said, and told herself that now was _not_ the time to start dwelling on her own past mistakes, and what the Jagdsprinz might be seeing when she looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

“You have _no idea_ how _hard_ it was not to kill them all,” Nia said angrily. “The Nations, the old ones, right after I became Jagdsprinz. All through that month when I had to be around for the UN and the meetings for the drafting of the Tripartite Treaty- I knew that killing them all would make things a whole lot worse for everyone else than keeping them alive, but I had to _keep telling myself_ , because I kept _seeing_ it all and I kept almost not believing that they deserved to live. I _wanted_ to kill them. The _Jagdsprinz_ wanted them dead, and _I_ wanted them dead, because they were supposed to be _better_ than that. They were _supposed to **know better.**_ ”

This… this was an old hurt, for her, Odette started to realize. Perhaps just as deep as losing her father, even if it didn’t seem like she’d considered that herself.

“It’s even Liesl and Ivan,” Nia told her. “Ivan’s a little easier, because I made him _Razanás Wildes Jagd,_ and- being Marschall, it’s kind of his repentance for everything; and he killed his government. He’s sort of family. Liesl hasn’t done much. Liechtenstein has never big enough to really hurt anyone.”

“So Venice,” Odette ventured, starting to see the shape of the problem. “And the General-”

“You don’t even _know,_ ” she snarled, suddenly viciously bitter. “You have _no **idea**_ the _things_ they’ve done- the _people_ they’ve killed and the, the _hows_ and the _whys_ and-”

“And you grew up with them,” Odette said. “They were your family, and your role models. The General taught you how to fight and Venice taught your brother how to sing, and they lived in your house and they loved you and you loved them, but they weren’t what you thought they were. You feel like they betrayed you.”

Nia stared at her.

“My people,” she told Nia. “They weren’t what I thought they were, either.”

“I’m not sure,” her friend started to say- too fast, hurried, forced. Blurted.

“I,” Nia started over, trying for _‘calm’_ but sliding into _‘scared’_. “Odette, I-”

It wasn’t quite panic in her eyes, but her voice got quieter and she’d tensed up.

 This required a gentle hand- this was closely-guarded secret. Odette got up from her desk to move one of the empty chairs in front of Nia, so she could sit close enough to reach over and hold her hands.

She’d judged it a little too close- their knees were almost touching.

“What, Nia?”

“I’m scared that if I were ever to see my father again,” Nia told her. “To see him as I am now, as Jagdsprinz. I’m not sure I’d be able to love him anymore.”

* * *

Nia and Izabed Saab had gotten along _amazingly_ at the commemoration. Liesl felt very confident in thinking this, because what she had observed and what everyone else was commenting on lined up. She’d plied the social events director at the Imperial Residence on Helike with the promise of political favors to make sure that the Governor of Freiezuno sat with them at dinner, and-

Nia and Izabed had started talking about trade, which was the obvious opener, and Liesl had managed to direct it to more towards the job in general.

“Oh Freiezuno’s quite the place,” Izabed told them when Liesl asked if the date of the commemoration made the national tensions on her planet easier or harder to deal with. “Plenty of shouting, lots of backstabbing, someone tried to assassinate me again-”

“They did _what?_ ” Nia demanded.

“Don’t worry, Jagdsprinz, Hadiya stopped them,” Izabed assured her. “She’s used to it.”

“That’s terrible- you have people looking into it-”

Izabed actually laughed.

“It’s under control, really- we’ve had to deal with this before. When you’re sitting on so much money and political power, people either want to kill you or marry you.”

It had been a perfect opening.

“So have you ever met anyone you’d want to marry?” Liesl asked.

“No,” she’d said, rather regretfully. “I’m still looking. I’ll probably have to settle for someone, though, because my nephew, Béutros-”

She shook her head.

“He’s not the sort of person who would do well in such a divisive place.”

 _Nia_ was very good at divisive.

They’d talked through the rest of dinner, and Nia had taken Izabed to the dance floor, and everyone had generally gotten along with both of them, and they just-

The two of them _clicked._ Nia had actually left the party smiling, and not wanting to stop talking to Izabed.

Liesl was going to have to find a good reason to get Governor Saab to come to the _Großjagdsreich_ and see Nia again.

* * *

Odette had been working in Vaduz, as unofficial hostess of the Court, for more than a year now, and she was _entirely_ fed up with the logistical problems of it.

Vaduz Castle was just- well it was a _castle,_ and you could remodel the inside all you liked but that couldn’t change the fact that it was on a mountainside, far away from any real centers of power, and it was supposed to be the _Jagdsprinz’s_ Court. A case could be made for it being the King of the Jägerskov’s Court, but everyone knew that _really_ meant the Jagdsprinz.

It was absolutely nowhere _near_ Martigny or the Jägerskov, though; and that was one of its two big problems.

The other was that it was too _small._ It would have been fine for simply the Principality of the Liechtenstein, and having it also be the Court for the Principality of Martinach was all right, but they were the heart of an Imperial power now, and this Court did not reflect that.

She’d worked herself up to finally going to _Razanás_ Liechtenstein about it, and she’d come prepared to fight for it, but the Nation just listened to her first couple of sentences and told it was a good idea, she trusted Odette’s judgement, _please_ move it somewhere else.

So Odette took a couple of days to go to Martigny and take a look around.

 _Ideally,_ Court could have happened in the Jagdshall, but Nia has purposefully built it and the Jagdsberg up as a residential-administrative area, with a few state rooms to impress anyone she had to see personally, or people crossing the Earth-Honalee border. There wasn’t room for a Court, and even if they knocked things down to add more space for one, the atmosphere was all wrong for it.

Odette hadn’t expected anything else, but she knew she had to double-check.

She spent two days looking around Martigny for available space; but what had been a town in her childhood was now very much a city, with the Jagdsberg anchoring the southern point of the ‘Y’ path it took along the valley floors. It stretched upward, as well, climbing onto the lower parts of the mountain slopes.

There was no room here. Not for what she wanted.

She scheduled an afternoon coffee with Isolde, and asked about the area slightly further-afield.

“If you hadn’t said you wanted it close I would have told you to go try something in Turin,” Martinach told her. “That’s really the high society center, anyway, since Milan is on the border now.”

“People should be able to get to Martigny and Turin easily from Court,” Odette said. “And the location needs to be- _grand._ Impressive, but accessible.”

“Impressive is easy, this is the Alps,” Martinach said. “Accessibility- not always so much. Well, going from Martigny to Turin, your biggest stop is Aosta, so you could look around there.”

The next day Odette went down to Aosta.

It wasn’t- it wasn’t really what she was looking for.

She started asking around, and went up and down Aosta Valley, and ventured into some of the southern mountains, until finally-

“Your Ladyship,” the hotel concierge stopped her as she was leaving for a third day. “Have you been up to look at Prarayer yet?”

“It’s a refuge- a mountaineering and skiing hostel, milady, up in the Bionaz Valley at the north end of Place-Moulin,” the concierge told her. “It’s been around for- centuries, I suppose. It stays in business for a generation or two, but then ecotourism trends back to Further Space destinations, and it’ll go out again. It’s been about twenty-five years since the last time it was open, and we’re still in the midst of the fad for Eoswides’s hill resorts, so there shouldn’t be anyone up there right now.”

“Thank you,” she said, and decided she’d go up to Prarayer today instead of over towards Saint-Vincent.

Place-Moulin turned out to be one of the Alp’s artificial lakes, held back by a hydroelectric dam and used as a reservoir. The nearest town was the incredibly tiny Bionaz, and there was a long, single road that ran on the north side of the valley up over the dam, and directly to the refuge. She stood in front of the old stone building and stared east along the length of the lake.

 _‘Nia,’_ she wrote that night.

_‘I know you don’t like talking about Court, but is Vaduz really the best place for it? No, it’s not, it should be in Martigny, because that’s where everything else is. You have a manor retreat on Aostarth for you and your children and your friends, but you need a proper Court building. It can’t be the Jagdshall, before you get worked up about that, because you’re crowded enough in the Jagdsberg at is it._

_But have you been up in the mountains around Aosta lately? It’s the perfect place for a Court palace. There’s an abandoned mountain refuge called Prarayer at the top of Bionaz Valley, on the shore of Place-Moulin. It’s about an hour from Martigny and Turin equally, but it seems far away from everything, especially when you see the rest of the Alps over the edge of the dam. The mountains tower up on all sides, and the lake is a brilliant blue in the green of the pines and the grass. It’s beautiful up here. Take a long lunch break sometime this week; you can come down and we can have a picnic and I’ll show you what I mean.’_

* * *

Nia had not been very enthusiastic about talking about Court, even if it _was_ with Odette, but a picnic lunch in the mountains with her friend sounded nice.

Riding out of the World Gate and seeing the view Odette had described in her letter actually did make her feel better about it. It was very nice up here.

The picnic was set up on top of one of the small hills near the refuge, and Nia let Arion off to walk around and have some of the grass as he wished while Odette talked to her about her ideas for the Court.

“I looked it up and the refuge actually opened at the beginning of the 21st century,” she said. “I think we should buy this entire area, take down the refuge and the ruins of that house over there-”

She pointed to the top of a higher portion of the hill.

“-and then build the Court palace here. You could have the big state gathering room where the house is, and have a grand staircase down towards us, and this area could be turned into smaller rooms for intimate gatherings, some sort of large dining room- facing the lake, I’d think; and probably the kitchens _that_ way- and overnight apartments and some permanent suites for when you’re here, and for the staff. We could run a ceremonial hallway up the middle of it, to the grand staircase-”

“I can’t really see it, Odette,” Nia told her apologetically, and her friend stopped short. “It’s not because it’s a bad plan or anything- I just don’t really get it, trying to visualize it like this. Draw it and let me look at it later? Or an architecture, or something. It _sounds_ grand, though.”

“Well,” Odette said, recovering from a moment of thinking that she was being dismissed. “That’s the point. As grand as possible.”

“But can we _afford_ it?” Nia asked.

“Nia,” she was told. “It’s not like it was when you were trying to put the Jagdshall together. You have _nine entire planets_ as part of your tax base now. You can afford just about _anything,_ let alone one little palace.”

“But a lot of it goes to the Hunt,” she worried. “We have big operating costs-”

“And _I’m_ telling you you have enough left over to finance building a proper Court palace,” Odette said. “Which you really should have done _centuries_ ago; but at least now it can properly reflect the vastness of your _dignitas._ ”

“It’s been a long time since anyone lectured me about my dignity,” Nia muttered.

“We wouldn’t be building it all at once, anyway,” Odette said. “Something like this, you build slower than normal, to make sure you’re getting the best materials and have everything planned out right. You don’t want to be building it and then knocking things down before it’s even finished.”

“It’s just,” Nia said. “You’re _sure_ I need this?”

The look Odette gave her was answer enough.

* * *

Giving the official news of the announcement that the Jagdsprinz’s Court, and the _Großjagdsreich_ ’s, would be moving permanently to Prarayer was some of the truest pleasure Liesl had had in a while. It was the first step to letting go of her ties and handing everything over to someone else.

Namely, she was hoping, Izabed Edvardev Saab.

Well- Izabed was a Governor, and very busy with Freiezuno; but Odette had proved she was very good at her job. There was no reason why she couldn’t continue with it.

In the meantime, she had to figure out if there was any reasonable way to contrive to invite the Governor of Freiezuno Rome’s Founding Day celebration.

Nia would be going, of course, since it was part of the _Großjagdsreich,_ but that wasn’t good enough. There had to be at least the _semblance_ of a legitimate reason.

Constantin Garfagnini ou Alkuone was President of the Roman Senate, so he was semi-officially the host. Cristoforo would be there, because he was the Vatican and it was neighborly, but also because the Garfagninis were descended from Giovanna.

Emma Miccichelo’s assignment was Freiezuno, and Liesl knew she was scheduled for leave at the time of the Founding Day celebration because Nia had been talking about how Arik and Ivan were happy that they were going to get to see her again for a bit. One of Emma’s fellow Leutnanten- and friends- on Freiezuno was Vasco Agresta, who was commanding the Hunt’s sorcerers there. Vasco was _also_ friends with Edward Kirkland-Héderváry, partially because they shared being sorcerers in common and partially because they were brothers-in-law through Terenzia and Árpád’s marriage-

And Edward was Izabed’s former teacher.

One letter to Cristoforo, to suggest that he invite Emma to the Founding Day celebration so she could see her somehow-cousin Constantin; one letter to Emma to tell her that there was space for her at the celebration if she wanted to take it, and in fact you can bring Vasco along, I’m sure he could use a big of a vacation, and why not ask Edward as well, he can come see his mother and Árpád and Terenzia afterwards with Vasco; one letter to Edward to tell him that Emma and Vasco were going to the Founding Day celebration and wouldn’t it be nice to visit your family, and how is Izabed doing?

I bet she could use a break, why don’t you ask her to come? Teachers should look after their students, after all, even if they’re not exactly their students any longer.

* * *

Odette had her concepts drawn up and was hunting for the right architect to convert them into actual blueprints for the Court palace at Prarayer when Marschall Braginski turned up at her door in Vaduz.

“Imperial glamour and opulence?” he said, when she asked why he was here.

He sounded so hopeful about it, and his expression so childlike in his pleading, that she’d melted a little inside and shown him the drawings.

She’d had no idea he could _do_ that with his face; but the bit of disconcertion at trying to reconcile the Marschall of the Hunt she was used to the man who had shown up at her door just disappeared when she saw how he lit up upon examining the designs.

“Ivan, Ivan,” he told her when she called him _‘Marschall Braginski’_ , and launched into a long, enthusiastic rambling on how this could be bigger and that could have more gold and over here there’s more space for windows you have to have light and all of _this_ could be marquetry flooring, did she know a really good marquetrist could make wood look like stone and there were all _sorts_ of patterns, the Jägerskov had the best marquetrists anywhere and that should be taken advantage of-

Odette had sat back and smiled through it, glad to see that he was enjoying himself. He took his own hand to the drawings, adding onto them and supplementing with news ones in precise linework and shading.

“Did you do drafting, at some point?” she asked him, looking his ideas over.

“No,” Ivan said. “But when I had my empire- I drew. Everything, about the buildings and the clothes and furniture, the court and the palaces. I had lost too many other things, and I didn’t think it would last. I wanted something to remember it by, when someone came to take everything from me then. I wanted to be able to look at it and remember what it felt like to be great and powerful.”

She checked Ivan’s drawings against photographs of the Russian Imperial architecture, later, and saw more than a few similarities. The architect she finally chose noticed them too, without prompting, and pointed most of them out.

“Nothing like this has been built since the last European empires fell,” he told her. “Even the Imperial Residence isn’t like this. It’s grand, certainly, but not in the same way. This is… very Old World.”

“Were you expecting anything else from the Hunt?” Odette asked.

“No, I guess not,” the architect said. “So what does the budget look like for this? Because it’s not going to come cheap, if you want it to live up to these standards.”

“I want you to build until it’s finished,” Odette told him. “You can have all the money and time you need- this is an investment in the _Großjagdsreich_ ’s future, and it has to be your _best._ Can you do that?”

“Lady von Rothbart- for terms like _that,_ I would build you Shangri-La.”

* * *

“Wait,” Nia said, dealing out the cards around the table. “Run that by me again.”

“ _Bisnonno_ got a letter saying he could invite me to come to this party and see Constantin, from _Razanás_ Liechtenstein,” Emma told her. “And _I_ got a letter from her telling her there was space for me if I wanted to come, and that it would be a nice gesture to invite Vasco and Edward, because they could use the leave to go see Árpád and Terenzia up at the horse farm, and Edward’s mother at Fürsten-Universität.”

“Meanwhile, Jagdsprinz,” Edward said, and peered down at his hand for this round. “ _Razanás_ Liechtenstein sent _me_ a letter telling me that Emma and Vasco were already going- even though they hadn’t responded yet, Emma got hers the same day as me- and that I could come, and it would be a nice idea to invite Izabed, because she’s been working so hard and I _was_ her teacher, so I should look out for her.”

“I didn’t mind coming,” Izabed said. “Rome is a nice change. Eight.”

“Nine,” Odette announced, and showed her hand. “Hearts.”

“Nice,” Vasco said. “But _I’ve_ got Court of Diamonds.”

He spread his hand out on the table- King of Diamonds, Queen of Diamonds, Sorcerer of Diamonds, and Knight of Diamonds.

“Freakin-” Michele started to say, and cut himself off, remembering that the Vatican was in the room. He’d been conditioned a long time ago.

“ _Really,_ Vasco?”

 _“Matrimony,”_ Edward said smugly, and showed off his pair of King of Roses and Queen of Hearts, then King of Shields and Queen of Swords.

 _“Unfair,”_ Emma complained.

Everyone tossed in their money- Jägerskovsk gold for Nia, Isolde, and Odette; handwritten amounts on the thin paper gambler’s scrips to keep score of later digital transfers for everyone else- and Nia passed Edward the re-collected cards to shuffle and deal out again.

Low-stakes gambling, Nia had discovered, was a _great_ way to avoid conversation at parties. Honalen Baccarat had fairly simple rules with only a couple of trump hands- and with five card suits and four face cards, at four-card hands apiece, you could limit your group to eight or nine people, or even as low as six.

Conveniently, there were only six other people she cared to talk to. Well- there were more than that, but Cristoforo thought that gambling was a deeply suspicious activity, Liesl only got excited about high-stakes gambling, and Constantin was busy hosting.

“The point, sir,” Emma said, picking up the conversation. She looked at her hand, scowled, and threw the cards down in disgust- she had three face cards, all of them worthless without a fourth and them all matching suits to make a Court, or complementary pairs to make Matrimony. The fourth card was a two- bad luck. If she’d had an ace, she could have cancelled out the entire round. “Is that your wife is up to something. You made me a spy, so I’m reporting my intelligence.”

“Thank you, Leutnant Miccichelo,” Nia told her dryly, and watched as her Odette upstaged her hand this round.

“Well,” Izabed said, a laugh creeping around the edges of her tone. “If she wasn’t already married, I’d say _Razanás_ Liechtenstein was trying to get into my favor! I _am_ the most eligible unmarried woman in the galaxy- if you care to listen to the tabloids.”

“ _I_ thought that was the _Razanás_ Empress,” Isolde said.

“Everyone’s given up on Empress Forouzandeh ever marrying anyone,” she told him. “And it’s not like anyone would _try._ I’ve heard she likes to play matchmaker in her Court though- so if you ever get invited, maybe find a way to politely decline. Unless you _want_ to get engaged before you’ve had time to think.”

Odette was looking a little uneasy- Nia thought it was the talk of marriage, and people arranging it. If she’d stayed Princess of the Tylwyth Teg, her grandmother would have arranged for her to marry some petty Lord a couple hundred years ago.

Time for some gentle teasing.

“I know _someone_ who’d like it that way,” she said, and elbowed Odette in the arm. She jumped. “I remember what you were like when you were younger, Odette- you kept trying to convince Arik that the two of _you_ should get married! Were you hoping to wear him down enough that he’d say _‘yes’_ trying to get rid of you one day, and then drag him off to the altar?”

 _“Nia,”_ Odette said, flushing. “That was, like, six hundred and fifty years ago!”

“I’m just saying,” she told her, smiling. “We’ve had our own brush with that sort of thinking, in Martinach.”

The game broke up six or seven rounds later- first Emma, then Isolde and Michele, claiming exhaustion of funds.

Izabed grabbed her as everyone else started to drift off.

“Nia,” she said quietly. There an urgency to it that made her raise an eyebrow.

“Could you introduce me?” Izabed asked, and tilted her head ever-so-slightly towards Constantin.

 _“Really,”_ Nia said, injecting as much implication into her tone as she could.

Izabed went a little red.

“Yes, _really,_ ” she said. “I’ve been seeing him all night, and he seems- he’s-”

“Yes, he is,” Nia agreed, and offered Izabed her arm for the walk over to meet Constantin.

* * *

“You might have been right,” Liesl admitted to Marlies the next time they saw each other.

“Of course I was,” Marlies said. “And it’s not like you can just throw people at each other and expect them to fall in love. That only works in bad movies.”

After the Founding Day celebration in Rome, Izabed Edvardev Saab had been seen having non-political social time with Constantin Garfagnini ou Alkoune. Tabloids, high society, and parts of government had exploded.

That had been a year and a half ago.

Two days ago, they’d announced their engagement.

At least, Liesl reflected rather sadly, the whole thing had gotten Nia participating in the social side of things more. She’d been almost _gleeful,_ getting Izabed and Constantin time together, out of their workdays or during events.

It sort of made sense. She was good friends with both of them, and though she’d lose a _very_ good President of the Senate, Freiezuno would be gaining a Governor’s Spouse who knew politics inside and out, and wasn’t going to be taking any of the upheavals-and-assassination-attempts nonsense that Freiezuno seemed to breed.

Politically, it was a _great_ match for the _Großjadsreich._ Constantin was family, even distantly, and a popular, elected official. The social and personal leverage that came with this marriage were going to be very much to their advantage.

Even Freiezuno got a good deal. Izabed was Buyanov fey, which had already meant they got to keep one of their better Governors around for rather longer than would have been normal otherwise; and Constantin was Thálassian fey. Their children would not only prevent the nephew Izabed had been concerned about getting the Govenorship, but also keep the human-Honalenier genetics ratio. It would be a long time until the planet had a real government change, and that was a planet that could use a little more political stability.

It would have just- it had _almost_ solved the divorce problem.

At least Odette would be around to take over Court when she finally died. It was going to be soon, she could tell- no more than five years before she went to see her brother in Irkalla.

-

It hadn’t taken Odette nearly as long to build Prarayer as she’d thought, because she’d forgotten that the oreads really _could_ move mountains if they felt like it. Clearing out the space for the palace, and leveling the building site, and taking out part of the side of the mountain so there would be enough space for everything had only taken four months, starting as soon as the snow melted off the valley floor. The foundation had been set and the building itself framed by the time conditions got too uncomfortable to work in.

The next spring and summer had been used getting the walls together, and the floors down, and making sure everything was as structurally sound as possible. The outside walls had been finished and the heating and lighting wired in by the time the snows came, and then the craftsmen had moved in to work through the winter.

Coming back up this spring, in the company of Nia and Ivan, Odette was _extremely_ impressed.

She’d have to have the road widened and little and repaved, and the summer could be spent lining it with trees and shrubbery, but that was something to deal with later.

The outside façade of Prarayer was light grey stone with black marble detailing on the roofline and around the doors and windows. The windows, facing the road, Place-Moulin, and the south rise of the valley, were enormous, and the negative space in the black marble detailing around them was filled in with gold that shone in the sun.

Immediately upon entering the main doors, the ceremonial hallway stretched straight down the length of the building to the grand staircase, in more stone, the floors a polished, richly-colored and precisely executed testament to the wonders of marquetry. The walls were mostly plaster, with paint accents and more gilding, leaving some wooden beams exposed. These had been polished to same standard as the floor, and between them thick, brightly-colored silk curtains hung around the windows.

It was up the grand staircase to the ballroom, a sort of rectangular-shaped room with a wide rounded end that gave a panoramic view of Place-Moulin over to the mountain peaks to the west of it. It was the wooden walls here that had the marquetry, in pleasing geometric abstracts, accentuated by inlays of gold, bronze, amber, steel, jet, and malachite. The floors were stone, in subtle patterns, polished enough to give a faint reflection of the ceiling, dripping in crystal with the festoons between the chandeliers.

“I am _not_ going to ask how much this cost,” Nia said firmly, looking up at the ceiling.

“You know exactly how much this cost,” Odette told her. “You signed off on the budget for it.”

“Yes, but I didn’t look. I asked Ivan to tell me if it was reasonable and necessary, and when he said it was I chose to trust him.”

Ivan had walked out to the middle of the floor and was staring out at the view of the lake and the mountains.

“That wasn’t very responsible of you, then,” she said.

“You said I needed it,” Nia reminded her, and then dropped her volume. “Anyway- this project has made Ivan happier than he’s been since he lived in Kansas. I know, he told me so.”

“He does seem pretty happy,” Odette replied quietly, watching him. “If he could marry a building, I bet he’d marry this one. I _do_ keep waiting for him to find an outward angle somewhere and hug it.”

“Oh, don’t tease him,” her friend said. “He’s had too few moments like this in his life for how old he is. He gets to feel like an empire again, but without all the guilt.”

Odette knew full well how nice a little nostalgia could be, sometimes. On the instances she returned to her grandmother’s Court, she always found a quiet corner in the room, took a deep breath, and pretended she was still a part of it all.

“So how’s this for Imperial glory and grandeur, _Rossiya_?” Nia called across the room.

Ivan turned, smiling wide enough to hurt.

“ _Bezuprechnyy_ , _moy tsar_!”

Odette couldn’t help but smile at that assessment.

Yes, Prarayer was perfect.

* * *

The downside to having a fancy new palace was that she had to hold Court in it, but at least she’d managed to get her way about going out to the manor on Aostarth for a week after this. It was going to be a small group- her, Liesl, Odette, Ivan, Nico and Diana, Arik, Isolde, Michele, any of her other children who wanted to come-

But for now, there were _guests._

“See, you’re doing fine, nothing terrible has happened,” Odette whispered to her after an hour of accepting congratulations on the completion of the building, and compliments about it, and general well-wishes.

“You should have just let Ivan be the host,” she whispered back. “Look at him.”

Her Marschall was pulling off elegant very well, in his dress uniform, and sweeping anyone who cared to offer him a dance across the floor.

“I didn’t know he could do charming,” Odette said to her. “I mean, Liesl told me he could, but I couldn’t see it until now.”

“Do you know about his sunflowers?”

“What?”

“Remind me to show you when we get to Aostarth,” Nia told her. “He grows them specially, and I think they’ll be in bloom when we’re there.”

She didn’t want to disengage from this conversation- she wanted to take Odette and drag her off into a side room and find something else to talk about, away from all of these other _people;_ but Odette physically pushed her into walking away.

So Nia set her sights on two people in particular, and with a clear goal in mind, having to move about with the flow of the crowd and be careful about society manners and be fawned at was easier to stand. There was a _reason_ she’d been able to get over the strangeness of having a throne, and that reason was that when she was sitting in it, no one came to talk to her unless she already knew them very well.

But her throne was in the Jagdshall. She could have a seat anywhere she liked here- in fact, she was planning on taking one when she got where she was going- but it wouldn’t be the same.

“ _Please_ tell me you brought Bacarrat cards, Izabed,” she fake-pleaded when she reached the side table where she and Constantin were sitting.

“Sorry, Nia,” Izabed said with a smile. “You can not talk to other people at regular functions, but this is a special occasion. We have a pack in our rooms, though, if you want to come by after.”

“There’s no point to it then, besides talking,” Nia told her. “And we could do that without losing money.”

Constantin snorted.

“I’ve had to talk to too many people lately who think that talking _is_ losing money,” he explained.

“Kicking Freiezuno into shape not going as well as you’d hoped?” she asked. “You’re welcome to come back to Rome, the new President of the Senate isn’t nearly as good as you.”

“Are you making her feel inferior, Your Majesty?”

“I haven’t _told_ her I like you better, if that’s what you’re implying,” Nia said. “But she might have inferred it.”

 _“Nia,”_ Izabed chided gently.

“You are not my _Zio_ Cris,” she informed her friend. “That tone won’t work on me. So who’s being especially difficult lately in your part of the galaxy?”

“Augustin Gebar,” Izabed said, expression twisting. “He hasn’t shut up since we got married about _‘undue foreign influences’,_ but people he’s managed to talk a couple more people around to his side.”

“Is he still sticking to the story that Constantin is a puppet of my interests?” Nia asked. “Or has he found something new to talk about?”

“He’s expanded it,” Constantin told her. “Apparently, since my mother is Thálassian, I’m _also_ a plant by Venice, to steal all their shipping.”

Almost seven hundred years of life, and she was _still_ surprised by the things people could go around saying.

* * *

The manor retreat on Aostarth had been built soon after the war ended, and it was almost all Nia’s design. There were rooms enough for all of her children to visit at once, and a couple of the Jäger officers or others she was close to as personal friends; and while she had a study and the dining room was big enough for a large party, it would never be an event space.

Nia had also built in separate bedrooms for the two of them, and Liesl had never really figured out if she should be offended by that or not.

On one hand, they had _tried_ to sleep in the same bed before, early in their marriage, but it had never worked out. They’d never really gotten used to living together, because Nia was usually in Martigny or Honalee, while she was pretty well entrenched in Vaduz. She’d never seen much of a reason to give up living in her own capital- Martigny was Isolde’s, not hers, and Nia just wasn’t enough of a draw.

But on the other hand, dividing them so _blatantly-_ that rankled, a bit.

It wasn’t a logical reaction, because it wasn’t like Liesl really wanted them to start acting like they were married, but it was still a reminder.

She hadn’t seriously thought about divorce in a while, because she’d known she was dying. She could feel herself going, day by day, and she probably wasn’t going to make it another year. When she saw Isolde, she tried not to search the younger Nation for signs of increased vibrancy, but she did it anyway.

Liesl hadn’t found any yet, and probably wasn’t going to. Liechtenstein was just too small, compared to Martinach.

It was a little disheartening.

But these separate rooms- she and Nia were divorced in everything but name, and Liesl wasn’t sure their marriage could properly be termed a _‘pretense’_ since this was how they’d always acted, but it was still kind of a lie.

Maybe if she presented it to Nia like that- like it was a sort of lie- maybe then they’d get somewhere.

They could talk about it in the morning. For now, it was time to go to dinner. 

* * *

After dinner, Nia took her out to see Ivan’s sunflowers, just like she’d said she would in Prarayer. Ivan had been asked if he wanted to come, too, because that was only polite; but he’d declined to stay behind for some sort of game with Isolde and Michele and Katyusha. The manor retreat was emptier than anyone had expected, he’d said, and he wanted to take advantage of that.

Katyusha had been the only one of the Further Space _Großjagdsreich_ Nations to come for the week visit, but apparently that was because Uaclleon was just so damn _wet_ all the time.

“If I don’t leave,” Katyusha had told her. “Then I might forget that outside can be dry, too.”

Arik was off flying somewhere, and Nico and Diana were also taking advantage of the warm, starry night to walk the manor grounds, so the walk out to the greenhouses was done in companionable silence.

The sunflowers _were_ very nice.

“I think I’m going to take some for the study,” Nia said thoughtfully. “They’ll look nice.”

“Ivan won’t mind?” she asked.

“As long as we don’t take them all, anyone is allowed to cut a few for the house,” Nia told her. “Do you see any shears around?”

Odette went looking for some, and decided to bring up a topic that hadn’t been discussed for some time now.

“I know you had things going on with Izabed marrying Constantin and having a new President of the Senate and having to go to society functions and Prarayer,” she said. “But how are things going with the anger?”

Nia wasn’t facing her, but she saw her friend’s shoulders drop.

“I don’t think about it that much anymore,” Nia said. “Being angry. When I went to see _Zio_ Cris, he told me I had to give myself permission not to be angry any longer, and then actually do it. And I think I’ve finally managed it. Venice and Prussia were both at the Imperial commemoration celebration, and I didn’t feel like starting anything this year. I didn’t really see any point.”

“That’s really good, Nia,” Odette said, finding the shears. “But you also totally ignored them the entire time.”

“Just because I’m not going to be angry anymore doesn’t mean I have to _talk_ to them,” her friend told her, taking the shears and figuring out where she was going to cut the sunflowers.

She picked the conversation back up once the sunflowers were finished, and they were closing the greenhouse for the night behind them.

“What would be the _point_ in trying to talk to them?” Nia asked her. “I’m still- they’re still carrying around everything else they did. And it’s not like I _need_ them back.”

“I’m not saying you have to take them back,” Odette said carefully. “But do you _want_ them back? They were your family.”

“I _have_ a family. I’ve got children.”

“You do. But if there wasn’t anything about having to work past the other things they’ve done, would you _want_ to take them back?”

“I-” Nia started to say, and stopped. After a moment, she seemed to realize that her expression was betraying her inner turmoil, and quickly schooled it again.

“They’re the only ones who remember your father like you do,” she pointed out, and let Nia stew that over until they got to her study. Nia had had it built on the ground floor, and it was a cozy space, tucked away from everything else. There was an empty decorative vase on a side table, and they put the sunflowers in that, and carried in a couple of bowlfuls of water from the kitchen to fill it.

“Why don’t we go into the courtyard?” Nia asked abruptly, once they were done.

“ _Your_ courtyard?” Odette asked, surprised. Nia had attached a small, completely enclosed courtyard to her study. The only entrance to it was a door from the study, always locked unless Nia was using it, and there weren’t even any windows overlooking it.

As far as Odette new, she’d never had anyone else inside it. Maybe Ivan, or Arik- but if they had, they’d never mentioned it.

“Is there any other courtyard in this house?” Nia asked. “Come on. I think you’ll like it.”

Odette had been expecting something a little more austere, but the courtyard was mostly garden, green plants patches of shadow in the dark and the flowers closed for the night. Nia left the door to the study open to give them some light, and joined Odette on the small bench in the little paved area in the center of the greenery.

“Maybe they are the only other people who have the same memories of _Vati_ as I do,” she said. “But- I don’t know, okay? I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do about them, besides that I still don’t feel comfortable forgiving them-”

“For your father?” Odette asked. “Or for the other things?”

“Both.”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Odette said. “But Nia-”

She reached over to hold her shoulders.

“-hurting those other people- that’s not really anything to do with you. Yes, they should have been better people; and it shocked you- hurt you- when you really realized what had gone on. But they didn’t do it to hurt _you._ Is that really your grudge to keep?”

“ _Someone_ has to,” Nia said, shrugging Odette’s hands off and crossing her arms. “I’m Jagdsprinz. It’s my _job._ ”

“But everything you’ve said about it has nothing to do with your duty as Jagdsprinz,” Odette pointed out. “It’s all about you not wanting to do something difficult and painful and, okay, fine, but I’m going to ask you this: Why hold it against Venice and the General when you forced yourself to work past that for the other Nations? What’s _fair_ and _just_ about _that?_ ”

Nia didn’t say _‘nothing’,_ and Odette hadn’t expected her to. That question was a blow to her pride; but the way she continued sitting on the bench with her and scowled off silently into the bushes meant _‘nothing’_ just as much as the word itself did.

“And with your father,” she continued. “They hurt him and they _know_ it-”

“ _Prussia_ won’t-”

“ _Venice_ knows it,” Odette cut her off. “And I’ve read the book often enough for doing classes at Fürsten-Universität to remember that you told Venice his debt to your father _couldn’t_ be forgiven, because he was dead. Venice hurt you and your siblings, yes, but the people he _really_ wronged were Germany and Amphitrite. Amphitrite forgave him. Germany never got the chance. _He never got the chance,_ Nia- so how do you have the right to decide _for_ him whether or not he’d forgive them? It’s an unresolvable situation, so why don’t you just _admit_ to yourself that you let your anger talk for you and let all three of you give his memory a chance to rest in peace.”

Nia stayed silent for a long time, long enough that Odette thought she’d managed to overstep an emotional bound, and now her friend wasn’t going to talk to her.

“You think about it,” she said, and stood up to leave. “I’ll see you in the morning-”

“Odette, hey,” Nia said suddenly, just as she was at the door. The words came out rushed, and Odette stopped and turned back to look at her. 

Nia stood up, too.

“Thank you,” she said. “I guess. I- you’re the only one who’s kept pushing me about this. Everyone else gave up a long time ago, when Zell and Heinrich did, because I wasn’t listening.”

“And you’re listening now?” Odette asked.

“I-” Nia started to say, and then scowled, sighing heavily in frustration. “I _heard_ you. I don’t know- I still don’t know. But you said some things.”

 _‘I’m not angry anymore so suddenly the things people have been telling me for almost seven centuries make sense, but I’m not ready to admit it to myself yet,’_ Odette mentally translated.

That was fine. Things could keep a little longer until Nia was ready to get some more self-awareness.

“If you hadn’t come and made me talk about it again, after I wrote you that letter,” Nia continued. “Then I wouldn’t have gone to _Zio_ Cris and I wouldn’t have gotten this far. I would have just abandoned it, and I’d still be angry. And I- I wouldn’t have had anyone to tell about- being scared about _Vati._ I didn’t have anyone else I could tell about Nations, because everyone else I knew well enough was a Nation, or _Seelenkind,_ and I didn’t want to do to them with their parents what happened to me, because they were still happy. So thank you for being a good friend.”

“Of course, Nia,” Odette said. “Thank you for being one too. Goodnight.”

Nia stepped forward, and gave her a hug. Odette returned it.

“Goodnight, Odette,” she said.

And kissed her.

It was a very casual thing. The hug felt right- Nia’s arms settled comfortably around her waist. The kiss was short, and felt thoughtless, natural, normal- an automatic reaction to closeness and kind words that neither of them had ever had with each other before.

It swept Odette’s heart up to her throat and she felt fluttery and shaky all over, no longer entirely there.

“ _Scheiße_ ,” Nia said, jumping back, dropping into her old, first-learned German. “ _Scheiße, ver **dammt** mich- **God**_ -”

“Nia-”

“Go to bed, Odette,” Nia begged; and she was starting to panic, could she really _leave_ her like this- “ _Please,_ go to bed!”

She left, still fluttery.

* * *

Why had she done that?

_Why had she **done that?**_

She was _married._ She was _married-_ she was married, she was married, she was married-

She’d _kissed Odette._

Odette- Odette was Arik’s age, she told herself, this whole situation was _completely_ inappropriate on at _least_ two different levels-

 _Lana is about thirty years younger than János,_ her memory prompted. _Ly was an adult Tylwyth when he met Odile, **that** would be an age difference. You’re both approaching seven hundred. Age doesn’t matter like that to Nations or Kings._

She was married.

Things had come into horrible clarity. Friendship, then emotional intimacy, then- falling in love. When had that happened? When had that _happened_ they’d been exchanging letters since her parents were killed and they’d seen each other at events and just sort of around when Odette was teaching at Fürsten-Universität and now Odette was _working_ for her and they’d been seeing more of each other yes but it wasn’t like they hadn’t _already_ had so much time to- for this to happen, so _why-_

She didn’t fall in love she didn’t _do_ that she was six hundred and ninety-one and this had never happened before it wasn’t _supposed_ to happen to her; she’d thought maybe she could come to love Liesl in a romantic way but _that_ hadn’t worked-

Nia was married to a woman she liked more as a friend than as a wife, and, she’d just realized, in love with someone else.

She started trembling.

* * *

When Liesl got down to the study, the other Nations were already there. Ivan’s expression was hard-set, and he was looming by the door to the courtyard, which was closed and locked. Isolde was pounding on it with her hand, in tears, yelling: _“Elti! Elti!”_

Michele was standing frozen and lost near the study door the hallway, and Katyusha had wedged himself in a corner and was sitting on the carpeting. Those were slightly-more helpful reactions to not being able to distance themselves from Nia’s abrupt plunge into some sort of mental crisis, but it did prove how much the younger generations of Nations really had not separated the Nation and the person parts of themselves the way she and Ivan and their age had.

“You are _not_ Nia, Isolde,” Liesl told her firmly, yanking her away from the door. “Getting into the same panic she is is _not_ going to help anyone.”

 _“She’s **hurting,** ”_ Isolde insisted, frantic, and tried twisting away. Liesl grabbed her again, but Isolde was still resisting, trying to reach for the door. _“She’s-”_

“You are six hundred and twenty-two years old, Martinach,” Liesl said sternly. _“Act like it.”_

Ivan had given up his self-control once she’d pulled Isolde away from the door, but spared enough thought to push it open from the other side once he stopped pretending like doors or walls meant anything to a Nation and just stepped himself into the courtyard.

Liesl actually _saw_ the tension drop his shoulders when he saw Nia doubled over on the bench, Arik in his boa constrictor form wrapped around her upper arms, shoulder, and neck in one of the snake-hugs he used when he wanted to be close to his _Elti,_ but she didn’t have time to spare to stop working. Ivan’s relief at realizing that Nia wasn’t experiencing some sort of psychotic break, just something like acute panic, was palpable.

He sat down on the bench next to Nia and wrapped her in a massive hug. Liesl decided there wasn’t much Isolde could do now that most of Ivan was in the way, and let her go. Nia’s eldest daughter dashed over and collapsed to her knees at her _Elti_ ’s feet, huddling up against her legs and clutching at her pants.

 _“Elti,”_ she said, small and scared. “ _Elti_?”

“Nia,” Ivan said. “You are scaring your children.”

She shook her head, mutely, in answer to the silent _‘what’s wrong?’_

Liesl drifted closer, not certain if her presence even made any difference.

_“Nia.”_

“It’s disgusting,” she heard Nia whisper. “It’s _wrong._ ”

“Oh?”

“I love Odette,” Nia told him, and the self-loathing Liesl could feel through the citizen bond was… concerning. “I _kissed_ her. I _can’t-_ I _can’t_ be Venice. I _won’t_ be; I-”

Liesl left.

* * *

Odette had gone back to her room and had actually laid down on her bed, but she was feeling too fizzy inside to sleep.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t ever been in love before. There had been a bit of a childish crush on Arik, and a rather more mature one on Nazario, and Luisa was a friend but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been things, every so often. She’d flirted with some Tylwyth nobility before she’d given up her claim to the succession, and dated people at some of her professorship jobs.

But this was different, because even during the times that her dating that had lasted a couple of years, things had never gone anywhere serious. The history of being her father’s daughter and still royalty in social status if not much in fact had kept things from ever approaching engagement, or even talk of engagement.

On her part, Odette had found that as the years went by, things got- strange, trying to date. It wasn’t the title or the family or the upbringing that was getting in the way, it was the fact that most of the people who remembered the world of her childhood were Nations, or Kings, or Jäger, or _Seelenkind._ There were some Honalenier who had been alive at the time- but they were mostly people at Courts, or powerful sorcerers or other magic-users, the people who got exposed to large concentrations of magic on such a regular basis that it had rubbed off by gradually extending their lifespans.

And most of the Tylwyth courtiers she’d known from her time in disgrace at her grandmother’s Court, waiting to be allowed to go back to her parents again, the Hunt had killed. The others- she didn’t care to see. The humans and fey and fey-blooded she met at the universities just weren’t- even when she liked them, loved them, there were just some things they could never have in common.

With Nia- Nia wouldn’t have kissed her, even thoughtlessly like that, unless she was _very_ serious. Relationships were not something she took lightly.

She’d been thinking, since she wasn’t sleeping, and Odette thought that _‘serious’_ could be nice for a change. Especially if it was Nia.

There was a knock on her door, and she rolled off her bed to answer it.

 _Razanás_ Liechtenstein seized her arm as soon as the door was open enough for her to Odette out of her room.

“We have things to talk about it,” she said.  

“I’m sorry,” Odette told her immediately. “I-”

“I’d rather you not try to apologize,” _Razanás_ Liechtenstein cut her off. “ _Someone_ should be happy in this house tonight.”

Liechtenstein took her down to the kitchen, where Nico was sitting bleary-eyed over some hot chocolate at the heavy wooden worktable, and Diana was trying to convince him to take some sugar in it. Isolde was sitting next to him, head down on the table, with an already-empty mug.

Arik made a face at her she wasn’t able to interpret when they walked in.

“Michele went to Rome,” he told Liechtenstein.

“I took Nia to bed,” Ivan said. “And pushed her into sleep. I believe we will all have later mornings than normal.”

 _“Good,”_ Isolde said into the table.

Ivan frowned slightly at her.

“If you are so exhausted, go to bed yourself.”

“No,” she said, lifting her head. “We’re not done here yet. We still have to figure some things out.”

She turned around in her seat.

“Odette,” Isolde said, looking straight at her. “Do you love _Elti_?”

“Yes,” Odette told her, a little surprised about how easy it came, in front of Nia’s family.

“Wonderful,” Nico sighed. “Okay. How much?”

“What?”

“On a scale of _‘one date to see how this turns out’_ ,” Diana explained. “Through _‘I can’t live without her’_ , how much do you love her?”

“She’s married,” Odette said, glancing over at Liechtenstein.

The Nation snorted, rather huffily.

“Pretend we’re not,” she said.

Odette had to think about it.

“Interested enough to deal with the celebrity gossip,” she told Diana.

“All right,” Diana said. “All right. Well. Serious enough.”

“She’s married,” Odette felt like she should point out again.

“Yes, we _know_ that,” Nico said in disgust. “We just sat through an _hour_ of hysterics and Nia’s marriage complex-”

 _“Nicodemo,”_ Ivan told him warningly.

“ _It’s a complex,_ Ivan, when she refuses Liesl’s _entirely reasonable_ offer of divorce, because it would be a _‘betrayal’_ to let them have what they both want, anyway! I’ve been living with her for just over six and half centuries now, and I am _sick and **tired**_ of her **_fucking_** _unresolved family issues._ ”

“They are your unresolved family issues, as well.”

“Like _hell_ they are, _Padre_ and _Papà_ fixed things with Venice _centuries_ before they died!”

Diana put a hand on his shoulder.

“I think it’s time for you to go to sleep,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed, and stood up, shoving his chair back in the process. “That sounds like a _great_ idea. _Maybe **some people**_ will be more _reasonable_ in the morning.”

“I doubt it,” Ivan said. “Isolde, bed for you too. Go.”

Liechtenstein waited until they were done leaving, and then had Odette sit at the table.

“This is weird,” Arik said to her. “You realize this is weird, right? We grew up together; and now you’ve gone and kissed her.”

“ _She’s_ the one who kissed _me,_ ” Odette told him, and he sighed a little before sitting down as well.

“Yeah, I know. _Elti_ said.”

Liechtenstein gave him a significant look.

“Why don’t you go to sleep, too?” she suggested.

“I’m staying up to wait for Michele to get back with _Razanás Vaticanae_.”

“Cristoforo wouldn’t show up here before morning unless someone was dying.”

“And you’re not getting rid of me, Liesl,” Arik told her. “I know you want to have a conversation with Odette, so just ignore me.”

The Nation frowned at him.

 _“Spy,”_ she accused.

“One of the best,” he said, and leaned back in his seat.

“Is Nia all right?” Odette asked. “It sounded like-”

“She’s refusing to divorce me,” Liechtenstein told her. “Again. She loves you, so she’s _convinced_ that leaving now makes her just as bad as Feliciano. I’d _rather_ she leave me, but of course she’s not _listening._ ”

“Would it be better if I left?” she asked. “Completely. Went back to Graig Bryn Du, or found a teaching post somewhere far away? Do you _want_ me to go?”

“I don’t want you to go,” Liechtenstein said. “I want you to marry her.”

“But if she won’t divorce you-”

“Odette, I’d be surprised if I lived to see Christmas.”

 _“What?”_ Arik asked, forgetting he was trying to be ignorable.

“It’s not _new,_ ” Liechtenstein told him, with a bit of disdain. “I’ve been headed that way for at least the last five years. It would have been sooner, but my people have old, long memories.”

She looked back at Odette.

“If she’s going to be too stubborn to be happy while I’m alive, fine,” she said. “But I’m going to die, and then she’ll be out of excuses. I need you to keep Court going- if it makes you feel better, just stay away from Nia until I’m gone. But once I am, _get her to marry you._ Formal engagement. State wedding. Celebrate your children’s birthdays as national holidays-”

_“Children?”_

“Do you not want children?”

“No, I’d like children,” Odette told her. “But I don’t want to complicate the family succession more. I thought maybe I’d- adopt, some day. Or take on some protégés.”

“Hm,” Liechtenstein said. “The point still stands. I like you, and I don’t hate Nia, it would be good for both of you personally, _and_ it would be good for the _Großjagdsreich._ ”

“How?” Odette asked. “You don’t really need any ties to the Tylwyth, what little I bring-”

“It never does a monarchy harm to acquire an enchanting new young Empress.”

“I’m not _that_ young,” she protested.

“You’re younger than me,” Liechtenstein said. “And you _look_ young- it’s the Tylwyth in you. You’re pretty, and enchanting, and you have a tragic past. You have your own authority, and there are enough people who’ve written about what they think you could have been like as Queen that you have a reputation already. Empires have done a lot worse than acquiring an intellectual firebrand reformer who’s _also_ nobility, with the grace and manners and looks to match. I _know_ your grandmother mourned the Hills’ loss of you- so do this for yourself. Wait until I’m dead, then get Nia to marry you because it will make both of you happier. Even if the love doesn’t last forever, you’ll have the position you deserve, and Nia will have someone she trusts beside her.”

* * *

Nia woke up in the morning to a quiet house. Everyone else was still asleep, or refusing to leave their rooms yet.

This was supposed to have been a _vacation;_ but instead she’d ruined everyone’s relaxation time with her stupid, _stupid, **stupid**_ traitorous sinful _emotions._

She went down to the kitchen to find something she could take back to her room for breakfast, and found Cristoforo waiting for her there.

“Sit,” he told her, pointing to the table.

Nia sat.

“I messed up, _Zio_ Cris,” she said.

“You have,” he agreed, and handed her bread and some warmed meat slices for breakfast. “Michele came to get me last night. I talked to Arik, and Liesl, and Ivan, _and_ Odette- and I have to say that I have never, even during the worst of your raging against Feliciano and Gilbert, thought you so completely and _utterly_ lacking in _common sense._ ”

That was not what she had been expecting to hear.

“ _Zio_ Cris?” she asked uncertainly.

“You fall in love with a woman other than the one you are married to,” he said. “And then when your wife _gladly_ offers you amicable terms of divorce- which you had before _dismissed,_ despite her wish to end the marriage- you _refuse._ There are unhappy people in this house this morning, Lavinia, because of _your_ choices _._ Why did you not accept a divorce?”

“I shouldn’t leave a marriage if I don’t have something just as important to go to; what if I’m not serious enough about Odette to marry her-”

“You are _Jagdsprinz,_ Lavinia, stop _lying!_ ”

“I won’t break up my marriage because I’ve fallen for someone else!” she told him. “I _refuse_ to be Venice!”

 _“Feliciano,”_ her uncle told her. “ _Lied._ Deliberately, and repeatedly. _You_ have not lied. You kissed someone who was not your wife, which- while certainly not _proper-_ does not constitute even an _affair,_ much less abandoning your wife to marry another and raise a family without ever telling a soul of your duplicity until it is forced out of you. You are _not_ Venice. You did not try to hide anything. You are fully willing to force yourself to stop anything with Odette for the sake of your marriage- except it is _not_ for the sake of your marriage, it is for the sake of your own overdeveloped sensitivities!”

“It’s _wrong._ ”

“You were offered a way to make it _not_ wrong, and you refused to take it!” Cristoforo snapped. “Which is worse, Lavinia, by God?”

“Divorce is a sin.”

“If you actually meant that,” the Vatican said. “It would be a much more convincing argument. _‘He who loves not knows not God, for God is love’,_ and it is _‘what therefore God has put together, let no man put asunder’._ God did not put you and Liesl together, Nia, because you have never loved in each other as one should love who they marry. _Politics_ put you together. Will you _please_ try to have some realistic perspective about this situation?”

“I _tried_ to love Liesl like that,” Nia told him. “When we got married, I thought we could- work up to it. But that didn’t happen. So why should it happen _now?_ ”

 _“Perhaps,”_ Cristoforo said, tone arch. “Because many people find it difficult to have fulfilling relationships when they are still living with strong emotions from a previous one- such as _anger._ ”

He calmed himself, taking back his usual even, gently kind tone and expression.

“I noticed you seem to have dealt with it.”

“I’m pretty sure I have,” Nia said, looking at her food.

“Eat,” he urged. “You have used a lot of energy since your last meal, being emotional.”

* * *

Liesl thought it would be a good idea to leave a wedding present for Nia and Odette.

Odette, at least, had adjusted herself to the idea that she’d basically been _ordered_ to marry the woman she was in love with. Liesl had put in the part about, when being forceful about her point, marrying even if the love went away- but she didn’t think it would.

She recognized the look Nia had when Odette was around. It was the way her father had looked at his spouse in the UN meetings, after the Martigny Christmas with the demon, when Feliciano had refused to speak to him. It was the look of someone who desperately wanted something they didn’t think they deserved to have.

If, through some maliciously-unrevealed miracle, Ludwig really _was_ with the other dead Nations, Liesl was going to _slap him_ for not making certain that his children were more emotionally competent than him.

Nia was clearly going to need some more _physical_ proof that Liesl had been quietly trying to get rid of her, and was pleased if not really _joyful_ that she’d fallen in with Odette.

 _‘Is Amphitrite still wanting heirs?’_ she wrote Nia’s living parent. _‘Because I know where we can get something that lets us have children.’_

* * *

Liesl died mid-November of 2705. The Court at Prarayer held formal mourning for her for the customary twenty-five days after the funeral, when her ceremonial gravestone was placed in the Beilschmidt family plot in the graveyard of St. Michelmarc’s.

Anyone who noticed that her widowed spouse didn’t seem to be very upset by her death was either too polite or too scared to say anything about it.

Nico Agresta walked into the Jagdsprinz’s official study one morning in March of 2707 and confiscated every single one of his cousin’s papers.

“Proper Catholic mourning for a spouse is a year and a day,” he told Nia, when she demanded her papers back. “It’s been three months since that ended for you. _Everyone_ knows you and Liesl didn’t love each other like that- _no one_ is going to be surprised or scandalized if you start dating someone. Now, no one’s going to _make_ you say that’s what you’re doing until you’re ready to stop being so _fucking_ tangled up in yourself, but you have a date with Odette for the rest of the day. Lord Hiruz knows you’re not allowed back here out of her company until at _least_ regular dinnertime, I told Luisa to watch for you, Diana and I are going to be watching for you, so is Isolde, and Arik put the visiting Intelligence Special Operations class to the test of correctly and timely reporting your presence in and around Jagdsberg.”

“I hate you all.”

“You’ve run out of excuses, Nia. Now _leave._ ”

* * *

At first, Odette was worried that _Razanás_ Liechtenstein had been right, and the love hadn’t lasted. Their first real meeting, after the end of the official mourning period, was stiff and distant.

But Nia came back, for another date, and then another, and they fell back- was it back if they’d never really acted like this before?- into the ease and affection they’d had building before the night on Aostarth, as Nia worked her way past the dregs of her irrational guilt.

The dates stayed private, held in one of their quarters or out in the mountains; their moments in public a smile and a happy shine in Nia’s eyes or Odette knocking her briefly with a shoulder or hand when she made a joke.

Izabed and Constantin were the ones who gave her the most help- Odette discovered, through their company at various functions, that if Nia could pretend to herself that either she was discussing business or that she was well-enough hidden in a larger group, she could more easily be open. Some of the happiest times of the next few years were in business meetings, with Lord Hiruz or Nico or Luisa or Isolde, or at a table on the side of the dance floor in Prarayer, over Baccarat with Izabed and Constantin and Ivan.

They had been two years, in quiet- not secrecy, because it had not taken very long for the Hunt’s High Command to notice that their Prince had _something_ going on and for Nico to drop hints that were more like outright statements that it was Odette; and of course the President of the Roman Senate and the _Président d’État_ in Martigny noticed that she was around quite a lot more than usual- when at the January celebration of the six hundred and fifty-fourth anniversary of Nia’s first Hunt, Nia opened the Court season at Prarayer with her.

She hadn’t prompted Nia to take her out to the dance floor to start the event, but the music began and Nia offered her her hand and Odette was not about to turn that down.

If she was standing much too close for simply friendship, then- well, Nia was the one who wanted to dance with her.

“Do know what the most popular theory is about why you’ve been going to more social events in the last five years?” Odette asked her, as everyone else started to pair off and enter the floor.

“I have no idea,” Nia said.

“You finally found someone you were interested in being around,” she said. “The all think it’s Izabed, and most of them are half-convinced that you’re pining over her, because she went off and married Constantin before Liesl had time to die and give you your chance.”

“They _really_ think that?”

“They noticed you’ve been happier lately than usual,” Odette told her. “And it’s not like Liesl wasn’t trying to set the two of you up anyway.”

She had the feeling Nia would have stopped dead, but they were still out on the dance floor.

_“What?”_

“She really-”

Odette was nervous, suddenly. A little more than four years of being in love, and granted they had only been together for two of those, but things had been serious since the beginning. Four years and they’d never-

“She really did want you to marry someone else,” she told Nia. “Someone you loved.”

Nia got silent, expression going closed, like she was thinking. After a moment, she shifted her grip on Odette, so they were pressed together, front-to-front.

“I have no idea if you’re prepared for this but I know _I’m_ not,” she said quietly, enough so that no one else would hear. “But if I don’t do it now I don’t know when I’ll work myself up to asking again, so. Would you. Marry me?”

Odette burst out laughing for a moment, before she stopped herself. A few people looked over, and then looked away.

“Of _course,_ ” she told Nia, pulling back just enough that she could look her in the eye.

“Oh,” Nia said. She took a deep breath. “Good. Thank you. Could I-”

_“Yes.”_

Nia kissed her out on the dance floor, in front of everyone, and then buried her face in the join of Odette’s neck and shoulder.

“They’re all staring aren’t they,” she muttered. “Tell me when they’ve stopped staring.”

 _“About damn time, Nia!”_ Nico yelled across the room as Odette started laughing again, softly, and reached around Nia’s hold on her waist to hug her around the shoulders.

 _“Shut up, Nico!”_ Nia yelled back.

* * *

They’d officially announced the engagement in May, to give everyone a couple of months to get used the idea of them together, and then suddenly the majority of Nia’s life had turned into dealing with the wedding.

“If we start working immediately,” Diana had said in the post-press-release meeting. “Then we _should_ be able to get your wedding in as the last big state occasion of the year, you can have the Christmas break for your honeymoon, and then be back here in time for the new administrative year in January.”

“Okay,” Nia said. “So what do we have to do?”

 _“You,”_ Diana told her. “Go be happily engaged somewhere where other people can see you. Preferably people with cameras. Just- go out, _stop_ being Jagdsprinz for a little while, and smile at her or something. You don’t have be dramatically romantic or anything, just hang out with her.”

She’d had say this whole thing, of course, because it was _her_ wedding and it was a state occasion for _her_ empire, but things had still needed to be vetted by other people, and there were a lot of lists and buying things and the regular sorts of preparations for weddings, and she’d done her best to stay on top of it but she had an empire to keep running in the meantime, too, so she’d been a little surprised about some of things so far.

They’d been married at St. Michelmarc’s that morning, in a closed ceremony for friends and family only. The definition of _‘family’_ was a bit broad, since there were people invited who were only related through marriage; but it wasn’t like _‘friends’_ didn’t include high state officials from different parts of the _Großjagdsreich_ and some foreign guests, like Empress Forouzandeh, who were too important _not_ to invite.

Venice and Amphitrite Kataiis had been there, too.

Nia had known they were coming- they were neighbors, in the political and physical sense; and Odette had insisted on making certain they were both invited to the ceremony _and_ the events at Prarayer, afterwards- and she’d spent a long time planning what to do if she saw Venice there and just- couldn’t take it.

Venice’s seat had been the first place she looked when she stepped out to the front of the sanctuary to wait for Odette to come down the aisle. She’d looked away when he looked back, but that was only because she didn’t want to be seen _staring_ at him.

She’d looked and she hadn’t been angry about anything. She’d looked and seen the people he’d killed, and it was like looking at Ivan- blank acknowledgement of what she could see written on his soul, accompanied by a dull pulse of _something_ in the background, simply because she wasn’t used to seeing Venice as much as she was Ivan.

Nia thought this might be what acceptance felt like. Not _forgiveness,_ but- acceptance.

She and Odette were married now, and that was- that was _nice._ They were at Prarayer now, in the ballroom, and Place-Moulin outside the windows was iced over and the mountains were full of brilliant snow and the palace had been decorated in deep golden yellow and cream and red accents for the wedding reception and Odette’s investiture as Empress of the _Großjagdsreich,_ Queen Consort of the Jägerskov, Princess Regent of Liechtenstein, and Princess Consort of the various planets.

Nia had put Liesl’s old kokoshnik tiara on her new wife’s head herself, Odette sitting regal in her new throne and her own version of Liesl’s state Court dress and the crown jewels, and taken her hand to guide her to her feet for her presentation to the packed Court in her new position, to much applause and the recording of news streams and journalism photographers in the back.

The ceremony of it all had thrown her a bit- they _had_ state occasions, of course, but nothing like this. This felt truly _imperial._ At the opening of Prarayer, she’d been able to look at the whole thing sort of sideways and just see it as the opening of a fancy building, but now-

With Odette next to her, empire suddenly felt a lot heavier, in her mind.

Having guests to greet and wedding-investiture presents to accept was a relief; a welcome distraction.

János was one of the last people to come up to them, after everyone else had presented what they had and were more occupied with the actual party than the people it was about.

“This isn’t actually from me,” he told them, handing over an envelope. “Lana and I will bring something over after the honeymoon. This is from Liesl.”

“Liesl left us a _present?_ ” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s, uh- well…”

Odette had opened the envelope and looked over the letter inside, quickly. She was holding a nondescript key in one hand.

“That’s for a refrigerated cabinet in a fertility clinic in Lausanne,” János told her.

“And _what_ did Liesl think we’d need-”

 _“Nia,”_ Odette said. “ _Nia-_ she-”

She stared at János.

“Look,” he said. “It wasn’t _entirely_ me. I probably couldn’t do that on my own. But she said she had this potion and she knew _you_ didn’t want to complicate the Silent Hills’ succession-”

 _“Wait,”_ Nia cut him off, having a sudden flash of memory all the way back to 2053, an unexpected visit and a gift of ancestral gold. “ _Liesl_ knew where I put that? _I’d_ basically forgotten about it!”

“She didn’t really tell me anything,” János said. “She just asked me to show up at the clinic when they extracted the eggs, and she had me put magic on it make sure they stayed, you know, _fertile._ There was some pretty serious magic involved in it already, but I can promise you that if you ever want to use them, you won’t have any problems. Personally, I was just surprised that Liesl had anything to do with magic.”

“She didn’t,” Nia told him. “That was King Andvari. Part of the terms for the Rhinegold was that I have heirs.”

 _“Oh,”_ János said. “Well- that makes sense. I was not expecting _him_ to be involved, but- that makes sense.”

He wandered off, wrapped up in his own internal speculations about the full extent of King Andvari’s powers.

Amphitrite and Venice, a little while later, were the very last to pay their respects.

Nia had expected, given their history, that Venice would hang back behind his wife and let her do the gift presenting and the well-wishing.

And he did; except that when she was done he edged forward and stood in front of her, visibly uneasy, but resolute.

“I have something I want to tell you,” he said. “Since you got _really_ married this time.”

He took a deep breath.

“You’re a lot like your father, Nia; and he would have wanted to be here. If he could have been, and seen all of this, this empire you put together out of caring for other people instead of conquering them and the things you’ve done for international law and peace and the children you’ve raised, and the woman you’ve married- Ludwig would be proud of you, Nia.”

She’d thought she’d gotten over being worried about what her _Vati_ would think of her if he’d known everything she’d done after he’d died; but no, apparently not.

Nia hadn’t cried yet today, like people sort of expected you to at your own wedding, and she was _not_ going to do it over this.

But, while most of her thought process was caught up in _not crying,_ some other impulse took over, and she jerked forward and hugged Venice.

It took about two seconds to feel very, very awkward about this, and wonder why the _hell_ she was doing this- that, what he’d said definitely demanded _some_ sort of response; but _that,_ after everything?- and step back again.

Venice’s expression was, for a second, completely shocked. He was just _staring_ at her, and Nia, out of a lack of anything else to do, stared back while she tried to think about what she was supposed to do now.

One instant, he was shocked.

The next, he was _beaming;_ and-

Nia had forgotten he smiled like that. She hadn’t seen him smile like that since before _Vati_ had died- before the Christmas in Martigny where they’d all learned about the demon.

The difference between that smile, and how she could remember him all the other times they’d seen him in the last centuries-

She was still staring as he and Amphitrite left, Venice almost _bursting_ with the effort not to bounce away.

“Nia?” Odette asked quietly.

“How long has he been that unhappy?” she blurted. “Since _when?_ ”

* * *

It had been a little weird, not having _Elti_ around for Christmas; but she’d been on her honeymoon so it was understandable.

And, though Isolde felt sort of guilty thinking it, _Elti_ ’s absence was probably for the best.

She had been at the wedding and everything, of course- her _Elti_ had gotten married! But Dietrich had been there too, at least at Prarayer for the investiture and the reception, and-

It had been nice, being able to be out in public together, at a fancy event, but know that _Elti_ was _definitely_ not paying attention to them. They’d gotten to dance; and Dietrich had been able to put an arm around the back of her chair when they sat down, and she had been able to snuggle up into his side; and they had been able to sit like that for the _entire evening_ and talk and laugh and smile with their friends and acquaintances, with Sadık and Daniil and Matthew, and Hadiya and Zahi and Vieno- Freiezuno, Genov, and Lonia, the other important players of the Independent Powers. 

Isolde was _happy_ that her _Elti_ had found somebody to marry because she loved them, she was.

It was just at the same time it also kind of hurt that it hadn’t been _her_ wedding.

She and Dietrich had talked about it, a couple of times before. Nations could get married now without it going all _political,_ and both of them were only sort-of their own heads of state. They both had someone above them, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, politically, because they were on good terms and had known each other basically their entire lives and they were neighbors.

But- _family._

They could have eloped, or gotten secretly engaged and married. They’d talked about it.

But Isolde wanted her family there when she got married, and Dietrich _tried_ not to but he still had the vestiges of his complex about Germany and wasn’t about to do something because he was worried about it seen in the context of Ludwig Beilschmidt- so they hadn’t, and they wouldn’t.

All the same, and though it had been bothering her on and off through the almost-three weeks her _Elti_ had been gone, she was waiting for her and Odette in Martinach when they got back in the first days of January, a couple of days before the start of the new administrative year across the empire and the start of the new Court season at Prarayer.

Odette went off almost immediately upon getting the bags settled in _Elti_ ’s rooms and taking a few minutes not to do anything to go make sure that things were ready, or _would_ be ready on time, at Prarayer, leaving Isolde and her _Elti_ alone.

“Are you going to drop in on the _Fürstrat_ or the _Conseil d’État_?” Isolde asked her.

“Later, probably,” _Elti_ said. “But I trust them to be ready for the new year.”

“So how was your honeymoon? Did you have fun?”

 _Elti_ smiled in the quietly-happy sort of way everyone had gotten used to recently.

“Very nice,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I’d call it _fun,_ but it was restful. Mostly.”

“ _Elti_ ,” she started cautiously. “That’s not-”

“Of _course_ it’s not an insinuation,” _Elti_ said. “You know me better than that. I do not do that. We do not do that. It was- I’ve just been thinking about Venice.”

People had been wondering about that ever since the reception. There had been a number of people who had seen the hug, and the ones who hadn’t had seen Venice blisteringly, exuberantly happy for the rest of the afternoon and evening. The only reason it wasn’t a major piece of social news was because the social season had gone into break immediate after. It was definitely going to be the primary conversation topic at the opening of Court in a couple of days, and it probably wouldn’t die down for a while. Talk definitely wouldn’t go away until there was some sort of explanation of it.

“What happened with that, _Elti_?” she asked.

“He just said some things,” _Elti_ told her. “And- I don’t know _why,_ but I hugged him. And afterwards, he looked- I hadn’t realized he’d been that unhappy. I keep thinking about it.”

“Of _course_ he’s been that unhappy,” Isolde said. _Elti_ hadn’t- she _had_ to have noticed. “You haven’t been on speaking terms in _centuries._ You’ve been yelling at him for most of that time. Why _shouldn’t_ he have been happy that you hugged him for once?”

“I knew he wasn’t that _happy_ about not being family anymore; but I didn’t know he was taking it _that_ hard.”

Growing up came with a degree of disillusionment about the adults in your life. Isolde had never dropped all of the hero-worship she had for her _Elti,_ because her _Elti was_ actually a hero, and a pretty good person, and she loved her more than just about everything in the entire universe. But she’d realized a long time ago that her _Elti_ also had some very specific blind spots and trouble areas, and that Venice and the General and Dietrich occupied most of them.

But she should have-

She was supposed to be _better_ than this.

“Of _course_ Venice has been taking it that hard!” Isolde told her _Elti,_ rather more angrier than she’d wanted to. “You’ve been _hurting_ him! You _know_ you’ve been hurting him!”

“ _Yes,_ I know I’ve-”

 _Elti_ faltered, a strange expression crossing her face.

“-hurt him. That was- that was the point. I just didn’t think-”

“You _should have, Elti,_ ” Isolde said. “You _should have._ You’ve hurt a lot of people, not thinking about it.”

“I have?”

 _Elti_ was just-

It went past the honestly surprised expression, because she could _feel_ the surprise, the mild confusion, behind it- and the lurking want to deny it all, silent in the background.

“You’re _Jagdsprinz, Elti._ You’re supposed to _know_ these things- unless there’s an exception for you?”

She was being mean. She was being mean the way Dietrich was mean, sometimes, and she didn’t like the way that Dietrich was mean but she was- Isolde didn’t know if she was _angry_ but she wasn’t _happy_ and she was kind of hurt.

“You hurt Venice and you hurt the General,” she told her _Elti._ “You hurt the people who work for you when they’re never sure if they can bring them up around you, and so walk scared. You hurt the people who have to be around the three of you, in little ways, because they’re waiting to have to live through an argument that has nothing to do with them. Making people uncomfortable and anxious and on edge isn’t nearly as bad as what you and Venice and the General have been doing to each other, but it’s still not _fair._ Do you know how Dietrich and I got together? _His_ government people weren’t sure how to approach _us_ with the things we needed to deal with together, so they handed it all off to Dietrich, and then Dietrich would bring it to me. Our government- _all of it,_ not just me, but Rome and the planets- did the same thing, so my brothers and sisters passed- _still pass-_ everything along to me, and then _I_ take it to Dietrich. We’ve been filtering our diplomatic relations for _centuries, Elti,_ because people were too uneasy to try to take things directly!”

Why was _Elti_ surprised by this? She’d been _living here_ the entire time, going to most of the same meetings, talking to most of the same people-

“You’ve been hurting _us!_ ” Isolde continued. “Your children, _Elti;_ and we love you and nobody’s mad at you about it, but- we all _know_ that they’re supposed to be part of the family, and they’re not. Every one of us has wanted to get to know them, see if maybe we could be family, but none of us ever _has_ because we all know you wouldn’t like it!”

“Why haven’t you _said_ something?” _Elti_ asked, aghast. “I- _kätzchen,_ I _never_ wanted to-”

“We know you never wanted to hurt us, _Elti,_ ” she said. “That’s why we’re not mad at you. But why _would_ we say anything? You’ve been fighting like this since even before Arik was born- we all grew up with it. We don’t- I mean, we sort of _do_ know better. We know it _could_ be better. But we don’t _know_ better. You’ve never given us the chance to.”

Oh, she was already going into emotional honesty. _Why not?_

“And maybe this one is more for me,” Isolde said. “But you’re hurting Dietrich, too. You’re friends, not as good friends as Ivan and Lord Hiruz and Nico, but you’re more than acquaintances. But the way you and Venice and the General always fight about Germany- you’re not letting it _rest, Elti._ He can’t ever really forget you’re all still thinking about him. Maybe you don’t see Dietrich as your father _first,_ but it’s never going to be far out of _anyone’s_ mind as long as the three of you keep _fighting_ about it! You can’t- Dietrich can’t really feel like he’s really, _only_ himself, even though he keeps trying really hard, because you three _won’t let him forget it._ And as long as _he_ can’t forget it and _you_ can’t let it rest, _we_ can’t-”

Oh no- wait, did she _really_ want to-

“You can’t what?” _Elti_ asked.

“We can’t get married, _Elti_ ,” Isolde decided to finally tell her. “We can’t get _married-_ we can’t be like you and Odette, even though we _want-_ ”

That was kind of unfair. It was unfair, too, that she and Dietrich couldn’t have what _Elti_ had found, but _Elti_ had just gotten back from her honeymoon and she was _yelling_ at her, and-

Isolde was going to be a better person than her _Elti,_ and so she stood up and left, and didn’t come back until she’d calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” she came and said later. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“No, Isolde,” _Elti_ said. “It’s okay. I think you probably should have started yelling a while ago.”

* * *

Odette watched, with some interest and no small amount of pride, as her spouse slowly went around apologizing to people.

She started with her people, her Jäger- Nico and Diana first, who had had to live with it longest, and were family besides.

She was told by them, as she was subsequently by Ivan, and Lord Hiruz, and Marcell Wähner, and most of the rest of High Command, that her actually coming and _apologizing,_ recognizing that she’d been doing something wrong and making things difficult, meant more than anything she could do to try to make up for it.

Nia came back at nights lost, emotionally struggling to accept forgiveness easily and freely-given. She was so used to thinking that forgiveness was _hard,_ that it was something people hated giving and that you had to seriously commit to earning, that it was an uphill battle, for her, to believe that it was really meant.

“I think she might-” she told the Vatican, when she went to visit him, to tell him what Nia was doing. “I think she might take this a little _too_ seriously.”

“You can never take forgiveness and contrition too seriously,” he disagreed. “But Nia does have an unfortunate tendency to take things too _personally._ ”

After the Jäger, she went to the government officials and the diplomatic officers. Most of them, Odette knew, were too thrown by the Jagdsprinz _coming and **apologizing**_ to them to do much more than assure her that it was all right, they had been managing fine.

“Should I… send them apology gifts, or something?” Nia asked her, since they both knew that _she_ was the one who handled most of the social niceties.

“I think they’d be fine with you just making sure they don’t have to be in awkward situations again,” Odette told her. “ _Those_ sorts of awkward situation, at least.”

Next were her children. Arik she’d already apologized to once, about his job; but now she got a second one as family.

 _“Elti,”_ he half-sighed, smiling. “ _Elti,_ really- it’s okay. Thank you.”

Odette wasn’t around for Nia going out around the planets, but she was when Nia went to Isolde, after that.

Isolde gave her a hug, and told her she was happy that she’d listened and proud of what she was doing.

Nia invited Dietrich over for dinner and told both of them she’d pay for their wedding.

“You shouldn’t have to be unhappy because I have personal issues to work through,” Nia told her after Isolde had mostly stopped crying. “ _Kätzchen-_ really, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Isolde told her. “I know.”

Her spouse looked at Dietrich, then, and Odette thought it would be a good time to leave them alone. She gently took Isolde out of the room, on the pretense of starting to talk plans for a second state occasion.

“I think we’ll leave them for a while,” she told Isolde.

“We should,” the Nation agreed. “They- they’ll have a lot to talk about, probably.”

Odette didn’t know how long Nia had talked to Dietrich. She came up to the room looking a little worn out, and Odette put her straight to bed.

“I’m going to go to see _Zio_ Cris tomorrow,” Nia told her.

“Why don’t you wait a couple of days?” Odette suggested. “Give yourself a little time to rest. You’ve haven’t stopped seeing people since you started.”

“I know,” her spouse said, and she silently gave up trying to convince her to stay home tomorrow. That was Nia’s _‘no questions’_ tone- she was bound and determined to go. She was _going_ to do it, no matter if she’d feel better waiting a few days, because she still had the idea that forgiveness should be earned, and that it should be hurt.

Nia stayed out the whole day in Rome, and came back looking even more wrung-out than she had the night before.

Odette cancelled the next day for her- the people who worked for her would understand.

Nia didn’t complain.

Late that afternoon, when she was filing away the day’s papers, Nia came into her office and sat down at her feet.

“Odette,” she said, sounding tired, and sad. “ _Zio_ Cris said- there are people who deserve an apology, but I can’t give it.”

“Venice and the General?”

“Zell and Heinrich,” Nia said quietly. “They’re- I missed my chance, Odette. What am I supposed to _do?_ ”

Odette knew exactly what they would have wanted, beyond an apology. Since an apology was out of the question- there was just that left.

“You know exactly what you have to do,” she told Nia, because she _knew_ that she knew.

Her siblings had told her what they wanted while they were alive, often enough. Nia wouldn’t have forgotten.

* * *

The letter from Liesl that had come as part of the wedding present was just an excuse to get her to the city, and then to Venice’s office.

Coming to Heinrich’s grave was her last opportunity to get firm in her conviction to actually _go._ It was also a way to stall; but it was _more_ the other thing.

There was no one else around, and Nia appreciated that.

“I’m sorry,” she told his grave, rather uselessly. She’d said the same thing to Zell’s in Martigny, before she’d left. “You probably still know I’m doing this now, but- I should have done this when you were still around to enjoy it. You shouldn’t have had to write your will like you did; and I can’t fix _all_ of it, but…”

Venice’s secretary nearly had a panic attack on the spot when she walked in, the woman’s anxiety spiked so high.

“Is anything important going on in there?” Nia demanded, pointing to the closed door.

 _“Nn,”_ was all she could manage. Nia chose to interpret that as a _‘no’_ , and walked in.

Venice was looking for something on the coffee table between the office meeting couches, and didn’t look up when she came in.

Nia seized the advantage to take control of the situation from the outset. If she didn’t, then she risked Venice taking it places she hadn’t planned it to go; and if she didn’t stick to the plan then she wouldn’t get _through_ this, and she’d just have to come _back,_ and-

“Liesl left Odette and I something,” she said, and Venice jumped. She whirled around, eyes widened in surprise.

Nia brandished the letter, to make it clear what she was talking about.

“She said that she only used half of Andvari’s potion. The other half she gave to you and Amphitrite.”

“She did,” Venice said after a moment. “Did you- want it back?”

“No,” Nia said. “Amphitrite needs heirs, and-”

She could do this.

“You were never a bad _parent,_ ” she told Venice. “Only a bad spouse.”

She should _not_ have said that. That had taken more effort than she’d wanted it to, and now she wanted to take it back. She could _feel_ herself closing up and she couldn’t _do that_ yet; if she did she’d have to come _back_ and try again and that she _definitely_ couldn’t do-

 _Goddammit,_ she’d fucked this up.

They stood there in awkward silence for a couple of minutes, Nia standing stone-still staring at Venice. Venice started fidgeting after a few moments, and wouldn’t meet her eyes- but wouldn’t turn away, either.

“Was there,” she said hesitantly. “Was there anything else?”

This was _not_ forgiveness, Nia told herself. She was doing this for Heinrich, and Zell, because she’d stubbornly and willfully forgone her _many_ chances at apologizing to them; and this was the only thing left that she could do.

“I realized,” Nia told Venice. “At the wedding, that you’re hurt. That _I_ hurt you. I _knew_ that. But I didn’t know how much.”

 _‘I’m sorry’_ belonged there at the end, and she was _trying_ to force herself to say it, but Venice was just _looking_ at her like that, with that confused expression tinged with a hint of sadness and if only Venice wasn’t _looking at her-_

Venice stepped forward.

_What was she doing?_

She reached out and took Nia’s hands; then leaned up and kissed her on the cheek.

Nia froze up.

“You apologize like Lovino, _cara,_ ” her mother told her, confusion replaced with a teary, shaky little smile, gently warm with joy. “Thank you. _Thank you._ ”


	11. Third Generation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got some trigger warnings for this chapter everybody:  
> -self harm  
> -self mutilation  
> -gore
> 
> Self harm happens sporadically throughout, and I spend paragraphs of detail on it or anything, but please use caution. Likewise, if you're even a little bit uncomfortable with bodily mutilation, I'd suggest skipping from _“Go watch your sister and make sure you’re ready to give her medical attention if she needs it.”_ at the end of the second-to-last section to _"Into the water,"_. Likely your browser has a page search function, so once you get to the first line you can search the second and then continue on from there. 
> 
> In nicer news, I've got family trees! The big one with just about everybody is [here](http://i.imgur.com/ZSXcmWy.png) (which has notes to go with it! They're [on my Tumblr](http://siphilemon.tumblr.com/post/125800959818/family-tree-time)), and a small one that just covers how Feliciano and Ludwig's descendants are related to Amphitrite's is [here](http://i.imgur.com/yFAWxoP.png).

When Edward Kirkland-Hédervary heard that the Jagdsprinz and her wife were expecting to be parents, he was distantly pleased. Royal births were good for monarchy. He made a note of it in his black journal, of the sort that all sorcerers trained out of the human tradition used.

_’18 January 2726- Jagdsprinz and Empress to have two children sometime in September.’_

When the announcement of Amphitrite Kataiis’s pregnancy reached him, he again noted it down.

_‘1 March 2726- Empress of Póli Thálassas expecting twins sometime in September. I have an inkling.’_

An inkling was what he called the sensation that he got before he had a real _feeling_ about something. Not all of his inklings turned into feelings, but he’d never had a feeling without an inkling.

People who knew him respected Edward’s feelings. They were always significant.

As the months passed, getting closer to September, the inkling got stronger and stronger. By the last day of October, it was a full-blown feeling.

Edward turned in his resignation to Izabed Saab.

“I’m sorry about the short notice,” he told his former student. “But I have a feeling.”

“About what?” she asked. In the corner, three-month old Ravenna Garfagnini Saab gurgled in her playpen and waved her fists around.

“Martigny,” Edward told her. “Venice. Babies.”

_“Oh,”_ Izabed said, concerned. “Should I call-”

“No,” he said. “No, you don’t need to do anything.”

He was on Earth the next day, and stayed overnight in Rome, unable to decide if it was more important to go to Martigny, or Venice.

In the end, he flipped a coin, and went to Martigny. His surnames got him into the front lobby of the Workshop, but not the floor. One of the Jäger on security duty _did_ go to get Leutnant Costa for him, though.

“Luisa,” he told her when she walked in. She looked flustered. “I’ve had a feeling.”

“Oh God,” Luisa said. “Okay, look, can you come back later? Odette just called down, she says the babies are-”

“It’s about the babies.”

“Oh _God,_ ” she said, with more feeling. “All right then, come to the hospital with me.”

Martigny’s biggest hospital was downtown, most of the way across the valley from Jagdsberg. Taking horses was actually faster than requisitioning a car or taking public transportation, because _everybody_ yielded to horses. Horses meant the Hunt, and this was the Hunt’s city.

The hospital had the usual rules about maternity wards and family, even when the babies were coming out of artificial wombs and not an actual living person, so when they got there they weren’t let in, and had to wait outside with Untermarschall and General Agresta. Marschall Braginski and Martinach had already been let in.

General Agresta was obviously very concerned to see him.

“It’s about this,” Edward told him, pointing to the closed doors of the room, and then claimed one of the chairs. He kept the Internet open, and asked Donner to keep him completely up-to-date with the news from Venice.

Amphitrite Kataiis had gone into labor.

His first note for the day was when Marschall Braginski strode out of the room, beaming, to deliver the news.

_‘3 September 2726- Sebastian Ludwig and Maria Beilschmidt born 5:32 in afternoon to Jagdsprinz and Empress, Martigny.’_

The second note came half an hour later, after much scowling at his computer screen and some internal cursing, his feeling loud and insistent in the back of his head.

_‘Ludovico Tirreno and Nia Adriana Costa Kataiis born 5:32 in afternoon to Amphitrite Kataiis and Feliciano Costa, Venice. Everyone surprised, slightly concerned by naming choices. I am **HIGHLY** suspicious. Certain the universe is up to something. Two sets of two babies born with two King parents at exactly the same time, not a coincidence. God **damn** but I hate magic sometimes. This is some prophecy-level horsecrap.’_

Edward closed his notebook and turned to the others.

“Do any of you know where I can get a job?” he asked. “At least until _they-_ ”

A nod to the door.

“-are ready for someone to start teaching them magic?”

He’d have to call his brothers.

* * *

“Nadri?” her brother was begging. “ _Please._ Please stop.”

There was blood all over the tile and on her face and she didn’t _want_ to stop.

Reno didn’t understand. _Mamma-Papà_ and _Mitéra_ didn’t understand, either. No one did, but Reno was better. _Mitéra_ just looked at her and said that she would grow out of it, or into it, but that in the meantime she was a very badly-behaved child. _Mamma-Papà_ kept getting worried and scared and hugging her and asking her if she wasn’t a girl? Was he a boy? They? Xe? There are so many options Nadri I’m sorry you’re hurting I’m sorry I know how it hurts you’ll figure it out I’ll help-

She was _wrong_ in her skin and she wanted to tear it off and eat the muscle and organs underneath drink the blood crack the bones and suck out the marrow and then, _then,_ when she’d devoured herself whole, she’d be okay. Whatever-it-was that was inside her could get _out,_ and the anger would be gone, the frustration, the day-in-day-out _crawling_ under her skin-

Reno never tried to explain her or tell her she was wrong. He just got scared and started kind of crying, she couldn’t- it wasn’t _fair_ that her brother got hurt because _she_ wasn’t happy, why did he have to _care_ so much?

Nadri stopped trying to gnaw the flesh off her arm and let Reno take her to the bathroom, where he stuck her arm under the faucet to wash the blood away, using the water and his own magic to heal her.

“We’re supposed to be in _Martigny_ in half an hour,” he fretted. Water was getting everywhere.

“I don’t _want_ to go to Martigny!” Nadri told him viciously. “I don’t _want_ to see more doctors!”

“They’re _special_ doctors,” Reno said. “Sorcerer Héderváry went all the way out to the Steppes to find one.”

“The Steppes aren’t _that_ far,” she muttered.

“You got blood all over your _clothes,_ ” Reno said. “ _Papà_ is going to _cry_ if he sees you.”

“ _Papà_ cries a lot anyway.”

“Not _that_ much,” he insisted. “And _I_ cry a lot too.”

Nadri changed her shirt and pants while Reno cleaned up the blood in the bathroom, and on the tiles.

* * *

Sebastian’s family was pretty weird. Not in a bad way, just in the way that they were a lot different from everyone else’s families.

He had an awful lot of siblings, for one, and almost all of them were a lot older than him. It went Arik Isolde Michele Katyusha Johanna Oskar Lilieanna Leberecht Azer Nikolaus and then him and Maria. _Dyadya_ Vanya said that he and Maria were _exactly_ the same age, which Sebastian thought was pretty interesting.

It didn’t _feel_ like he had a lot of siblings sometimes, though, because even though _Elti_ and _Mère_ made an effort the only ones he really _knew_ were Arik and Isolde, who lived in Martigny with them; and Michele because he was just in Rome; and sort-of Katyusha because he was _Dyadya_ Vanya’s favorite and the only Sorcerer, so sometimes he came to talk to _Zio_ Nico or Cousin Luisa or Mr. Edward, who was going to start teaching them magic soon.

Sebastian wasn’t sure he needed to be taught magic. He could do some it already, from trying to copy _Mère_ ’s illusions when she told stories. He couldn’t do them, though, because _Mère_ was Tylwyth fey and she was his _Mère_ but genetically he was someone else’s.

This was a lot of why his family was weird. They were strung out all over time, and sometimes Sebastian would imagine it like the longest, thickest steel string on _Mère_ ’s big floor harp.

Amphitrite Kataiis was way, way out of the furthest end, right near the beginning of Honalee. After her was Arion and Kore and Danū, who had married Beli Mawr who was the first King of the Tylwyth Teg and-

Sebastian always had to count for this part.

- _Mère_ and _Tadcu_ Ly and King Gwyn and King Llud Llaw and Beli Mawr; his great-great-great grandmother but also his half-aunt, because _Nonna_ Feli was married to Amphitrite; like how Mr. Edward’s father was _Elti_ ’s cousin but he’d also had General Héderváry over on the Farm with Kore, so Sorcerer Héderváry was also _Elti_ ’s half-brother-in-law kind of.

This was where thinking of his family like a harp string fell apart because once _Nonna_ Feli and _Großvati_ turned up things got really, really, _really_ snarled; and this whole thing must have been a lot easier for _Elti_ and Arik and all the others to figure out, because until he and Maria had come along they hadn’t counted _Nonna_ Feli or Amphitrite or any of that part of the mess as family.

On the back of the door to his room, the page they’d done in school where the teacher had told them to draw their family trees was still hanging after a couple of years- he didn’t remember why they’d been supposed to do that anymore, but they had- he’d stared at the paper for a minute or two before writing _‘Everyone Important Everywhere’_ on it, instead of trying to fill in names or positions.

He’d stayed after class to explain to explain to his teacher _why_ he’d done it, because the man hadn’t really seemed to grasp the problem of asking him to draw out a family tree. He’d gotten through the problems of whether or not to include the Honda-Brynjarssons who owned HabéTech as part of the family and whether or not King Perun and his daughters counted since his old wife had been one of Amphitrite’s granddaughters and the continuing family puzzle that was Dietrich who was married to Isolde so he was his brother-in-law but also technically while very insistently importantly _emphatically not_ his _Großvati_ when his teacher had stopped him and said: “Yes, I know, I read the book.”

Sebastian knew about The Book. _Elti_ had an original copy of it, in a German almost seven centuries out of date that he’d tried to read but couldn’t, in her study. He had a vague sort of feeling that he wasn’t supposed to read it, because it was The Book and it had the demon and _Elti_ ’s family that was dead and a bunch of history _Mère_ said that _Elti_ was still trying very very hard not to let rule her life, but _Elti_ was also very very bad at that and that was why they’d only started talking to _Nonna_ Feli again recently.

They had to be patient with _Elti, Mère_ said, because she’d forgotten how not to hurt people a long time ago, and relearning to be kind was hard.

_Elti_ had never hurt _him,_ but Arik and Isolde and Dietrich had told him and Maria some things, about what life had been like before _Elti_ and _Nonna_ Feli started talking. _Zio_ Nico and _Prozio_ Cristoforo had actually known _Elti before_ she was Jagdsprinz, and losing _Großvati,_ and the demon. _Zio_ Nico said she hadn’t been so _“goddamned fucking stubborn”_ and then told him not say he’d said that, he was getting old and cranky like his _Padre_ had been and had had it about up to _here_ with his _Elti_ ’s attitude, sometimes.

_Prozio_ Cristoforo had told him and Maria that _Elti_ had gotten to be Jagdsprinz because she was angry, and being Jagdsprinz had locked her into it.

“It is an easier job to do, if you hate,” he’d said. “Joining the Hunt changes you. It made your _Elti_ get angrier and more hard-headed, and Emma more reckless.”

“The magic,” Lord Hiruz had told him, when he’d asked. Sebastian _liked_ Lord Hiruz. He was just- Sebastian hadn’t quite figured it out yet. But he was _great._ “Takes what it needs of you, and leaves the rest. It cannot _destroy_ any part of you, but everyone changes because of it. This is no bad thing, because everything changes and it is always one’s choice to choose _how_ to act when you have changed- the most universal effect of joining the Hunt is no longer having guilt about killing, at least in the execution of your duty. We would not be able to function without this.”

Arik had run straight to the Hunt, Sebastian knew. Isolde had told him. Isolde had also told him how _Elti_ had totally missed a lot of the things that she’d done that had hurt people, and Sebastian-

He wasn’t sure that joining the Hunt made you feel not guilty about _only_ killing. _Elti_ had been really sorry about hurting everybody _but_ General Beilschmidt and _Nonna_ Feli. She’d apologized to _Nonna_ Feli and was able to stand her presence for short periods; but _Mère_ and Isolde said that _Elti_ had apologized to _Nonna_ Feli to try to pay off her debt to her dead brother and sister, not because _she_ was sorry about _Nonna_ Feli.

_Elti_ had stopped being mad, and _Dyadya_ Vanya said she felt kind of guilty. But she hadn’t started being sorry yet.

Sebastian had a lot of faith in the Hunt and his _Elti,_ and respect, but he didn’t have Arik’s devotion to it. _He_ wasn’t going to join the Hunt and feel okay about hurting people. He’d find something else to do with his life- probably a lot of _‘something else’_ s, like _Mère_ and Mr. Edward had and Sorcerer Héderváry had.

He was a prince and Maria was princess, but neither of them was the way that _Mère_ had been a Princess, even if just for a little bit, or his… Reno and Nadri weren’t his uncle and aunt, even if they _were._ They were _his_ age. That would be weird, in a bad way.

Reno was Princess of Póli Thálassas- insistently not _‘Prince’,_ Sebastian knew because _Dyadya_ Vanya thought this was a funny story; Reno had said that if _Elti_ could be _King_ of the Jägerskov and _Emperor_ of the _Großjagdsreich_ then _he_ could be _Princess_ of Póli Thálassas and then Empress, just like his mother- and everybody said that it was blessing that it hadn’t been Nia Adriana, hadn’t been Nadri.

The last time Sebastian had _‘seen’_ Reno and Nadri, they had both been five or so, and he didn’t think any of them remembered it.

Just looking at Nadri, he didn’t see why it would have been bad for her to be Princess instead of her brother. Nadri had the same honey-brown-gold eyes as Maria, which they’d gotten from _Nonna_ Feli, but she had her mother’s black hair and strong face where Maria was what Cousin Mosè called _‘Germanic blonde’_ , perfect pale wheat hair and just a sort of normal face.

Really, the only thing that looked strange about Nadri was that her hair was so _thick-_ Amphitrite’s was full and _Nonna_ Feli’s was a little wavy on the ends when it got long like it was now, even without _Nonna_ Feli putting time into it to _make_ it wave; but neither of theirs _bushed_ like that.

Sebastian tried to come up with a nicer word, but the only way he could think of to describe Nadri’s hair was _‘a mane’_.

She didn’t _look_ like she _“had_ _problems”,_ except maybe with brushing her hair. _Mère_ ’s hair went down past her feet when she took it all down and he and Maria liked to help her wash it and brush it and re-dye it, bleached blonde and red ochre sections against her natural brown. _That_ took a while.

_Elti_ could see things about people just from looking at them, and Sebastian had always felt it was kind of unfair that _she_ was the only person who could do that.

It sounded so _useful._

* * *

Reno had let the adults fuss over him instead of Nadri, like always, because if he was there being bright and cheerful and _“sweet and charming, just like your father!”_ then people would leave Nadri alone, and not notice the parts of her arms and hands where she’d scratched herself or the little changes in her face that told you, if you were actually paying attention, that she was biting through the inside of her lip or cheek to taste the blood and feel a little better.

He liked being bright and cheerful, anyway. He liked making people happy. Other people liked being happy, too, and generally also felt better if they were around happy people; so Reno considered it the best use of his time.

It was sort of weird, coming to Martigny.

It wasn’t that the people were different, or anything. It was who they were.

The Jagdsprinz, for example, in her uniform and standing stiffly like that, looking at _Papà_ but not actually _at_ him, was his sister. But she wasn’t his sister like Nadri was his sister, even though _Mitéra_ had named her after the Jagdsprinz and the sea outside the Lagoon, like he was named for the sea on the other side of the Apennine Peninsula and _Papà_ ’s dead husband.

Everybody thought that was really strange, maybe even creepy, somehow; and Reno thought they were probably right. _Papà_ ’s dead husband had been the reason there was so much trouble in the family, and he _never_ let anyone call him _‘Ludovico’_. A couple of people had tried _‘Vico’_ , but that still felt wrong and sort of crawly. If that was how Nadri felt _all the time,_ he understood why she kept trying to chew herself to bits.

If it wouldn’t have been such a pain to get rid of his first name, he would have already decided to get it legally changed when he got old enough; but people would ask questions and he’d have to answer them and the whole thing was awkward enough already.

_Papà_ and the Jagdsprinz, his sister, they were awkward with each other. It was a tense awkward, and Reno had never found any other people who tried _so hard_ to get along but just couldn’t, really. They never yelled, and Reno had been told that the yelling had been pretty awful and if he’d ever had sit through any of that he was sure he’d cry, yelling was stressful, but they weren’t really nice to each other either.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if they weren’t _trying_ so hard. They could have just been distant and politely cold; but instead they kept trying to talk to each other and Reno wasn’t really sure _how_ but they kept tripping over each other and themselves, not physically, not with their words, it was something in the atmosphere, something about the way that _Papà_ would suddenly smile and the Jagdsprinz would look at him like he was a stranger doing something vaguely-offensive in public and _Papà_ ’s smile would crumble bit by bit and then the Jagdsprinz would try to make it stop and not say the right things and all the other adults in the room wouldn’t be sure whether they should ignore them or not-

It was so _unbearably **uncomfortable**_ and it made Reno want to go hide until it was all over, except the adults were talking still and _Papà_ and _Mitéra_ were going to see the fancy doctor Sorcerer Héderváry had brought before Nadri got to talk to them, and then after _that_ Sorcerer Héderváry’s sons were going to introduce themselves, because they were going to teach all four of them magic.

Sebastian suggested they go out to the forest, to the Irvinrkallrene glade, because Lord Hiruz would take them and he and Maria were allowed there unsupervised, because it was the safest place in the entire forest except for the Jagdshall itself.

The glade was okay, and he carefully noted Lord Hiruz’s warnings about not sitting on the one stone by the tree or touching the iron band on the tree itself. He didn’t want to disrespect anyone.

“Do you know what Sorcerer Héderváry’s sons are like?” he asked Sebastian once Lord Hiruz had left. He needed to know, so he’d know what to expect; and if Sebastian and Maria were talking to him then they wouldn’t be paying attention to Nadri.

“Well, Mr. Edward has always been around,” Sebastian told him. “He’s okay. He always seems like he’s in kind of a bad mood and glares at things, but usually he’s nice. _Dyadya_ Vanya says Sorceress Kirkland’s grandfather was like that too, and Sorcerer Héderváry’s father, so we don’t have to worry about it. Grumpiness is just part of the family. I’ve never really met Mr. Joseph. He only showed up yesterday, so he could meet all of us today.”

That was a shame. Edward Kirkland-Héderváry was already making Reno kind of anxious, he sounded hard to please, and it would have been nice to be told that his brother Joseph wasn’t like him.

“Do we _have_ to learn magic from other people?” he complained. “I’m Princess of Póli Thálassas, shouldn’t _Mitéra_ be the only one who can teach me what I need to know?”

“About being Princess, yeah, probably,” Sebastian told him. “But you can learn lots of things from lots of different people. Maria always says that, even if she’s not really interested in magic.”

“I do,” his sister confirmed. “It takes lots of different people to figure out lots of different things, and there are lots of different things in the universe.”

Reno didn’t really care about that part.

“Not interested in _magic?_ ”

“Not like _Sebastian_ means,” Maria said. “ _Sebastian_ likes magic that’s all dramatic and- mysterious. I don’t see why it’s so fun. Space is better.”

“Space is _not_ better,” Sebastian retorted, smiling a little. It was an easy reply, teasing.

Maria just shrugged.

“Is so,” she said, and stood up. “I’m going into the Mine, there might be interesting rocks.”

“Shouldn’t we stop her?” Reno asked uneasily, looking at the dark mouth of the big cave on one side of the glade and thinking about big deep holes and underground rivers and sharp stone spikes and cave-ins and starving to death-

“No, she _never_ gets lost,” Sebastian said. “She always knows _exactly_ where everything is. It’s her thing. Anyway, if she gets into trouble, there are oreads down there. Siegrike will make sure she’s all right.”

“Okay,” he said doubtfully; and to try to keep from worrying, changed the subject. “What did she mean, you like magic dramatic and mysterious?”

“Oh!” Sebastian exclaimed, brightening up. “It’s the _old_ stuff, the stuff with all the bits stripped off, ritual magic and soul magic and blood magic- I can do a little, I figured out how all on my own, look-”

Reno did _not_ want to look, there was classical sorcerer’s training for ritual magic and the sorts of magic that happened in the High Legends and the histories- the stories about making the Kings, and the power you could get from killing someone, or selling and buying souls, or using someone’s name against them- people didn’t _do_ that, not without a lot of desperation, for a _reason-_

Sebastian sat down cross-legged in the grass, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he let it out, part of his soul went with it.

Reno had heard about this- the Steppeans trained people to do that, to take the shadow part of their souls out walking. It wasn’t _really_ magic, they said; but blood magic wasn’t _really_ magic the same way other things were magic, either. Anybody could do blood magic if they knew it was possible, and your body was just another component of your soul, after all. And there was power enough in a dying curse or blessing, someone’s last words or thoughts- you could do a lot of damage or a lot of good with the power of your own death.

But just because you _could_ do it without knowing a lot about it didn’t mean you _should._

Sebastian looked like himself for couple of moments, long enough for Reno to get a good look and stop being surprised; and then he changed. It was an instantaneous thing, almost like the selkies when they went in the water in their skins, but different.

His- not _nephew’s,_ he wasn’t going to say _that;_ they could be cousins _-_ cousin’s shadow soul now looked like a fawn, looking proud standing there in the grass, next to his body.

… _without_ his body.

“Nadri,” Reno said urgently, having a sudden flash of insight. “Nadri- _Nadri._ When you, when you’re, do you think that being able to-”

He just pointed at fawn-Sebastian, and looked to his sister. She was staring at their cousin with more longing than anyone he’d ever seen.

That did it, for Reno. He was going to find her someone to teach her how to let her soul leave her body. If she could do _that,_ when things got too bad, then maybe she wouldn’t have to try to eat herself.

* * *

Maria had been in Isengrim’s Mine before, and walked it with confidence, stepping herself further and further into the Mine. She knew from _Dyadya_ Vanya and Isolde and the other Nations that when _they_ stepped themselves places, they had to be careful not to over- or undershoot where they were going, and end up dropping themselves in an ocean or space or something.

_She’d_ never had that problem. She hadn’t tried to go so far as across an ocean or to another planet, yet, but she was certain she could- as certain as she was about which way the tunnels turned, and how far away she was from the entrance, and _exactly_ where everything was.

When she said everything, she _meant_ everything. It was easiest with places, or with people or animals or ships or things she already knew, to know where they were. She always knew exactly where _Elti_ was, in particular, even more closely than _Dyadya_ Vanya or Isolde or Michele. They could feel her all the time, and step right to her on instinct; but they couldn’t stand there and tell you the exact coordinates of the ship she was in. They could only take you there.

Maria knew the coordinates. She _always_ knew the coordinates. She knew them in HabéTech’s counting system, and the special auxiliary that the _Großjagdsreich_ ’s fleet used to handle the flicker engines, that bounced their ships back and forth between Earth-space and Honalee-space and had math many magnitudes more complicated than HabéTech’s calculations for the lightspeed lanes and the jump drives.

One time, because she was curious and had been in the room with _Elti_ and Arik, Arik curled up around _Elti_ ’s neck in snake form the way he really liked to do, she’d thought really hard for a long time and come up with coordinates for the Pict Homeworld. The Pict had kept it a closely-guarded secret, so she had no way to check it against an established fact, but Maria wasn’t in the business of doubting herself.

Someday, she’d go to space, and go where her coordinates told her, and _prove_ that was where the Pict Homeworld was. It would make _Elti_ ’s job a lot easier, because she still worried about the Pict a lot sometimes, especially when it was time to give relocation assignments to the Jäger and she had to decide who would go to the garrisons or bases on the border worlds, who would get hit first if the Pict made a move against humanity or Honalee.

This was further into the Mine than she’d ever gone before, looking for rocks, but she was hoping for something like a crystal. If she found a crystal, Mr. Edward could tell her how to put magic in it, and she could do something with it.

Maria didn’t find any crystals. She was deep into the cold dark when her foot hit something soft.

Mountains were not usually a place with soft stuff.

Curious, she bent over and picked it up. It felt like a cloth pouch, maybe filled with sand from the weight and the way moved so fluidly.

She found the drawstrings and opened it.

It _glowed._

The stuff inside was white and powdery, and felt like it could have been very fine sand when she stuck her fingers in it. It stuck to her skin, and her fingers came away glowy and sparkly.

It wasn’t a very _bright_ glow, but it was enough to let her see a couple feet around her, so she decided to keep it open for light.

She stepped herself again- _I’m going to go as far as I can,_ she thought, because with this little light she could see no matter how dark it was- and suddenly didn’t know where she was.

_That_ was very wrong, but she wasn’t really scared for some reason. She still dropped herself down to the ground, though, so she could sit and think about it, but even though she’d sat down pretty hard she didn’t actually _hit_ anything. She just sort of stopped, at the same level she’d been standing on.

Maria cautiously put a hand down. There didn’t seem to be anything underneath her, or just around her in general, but if she wanted to hit some solid surface, she did, without there being anything solid.

Some sort of gravity field? Or maybe the strong and weak nuclear forces. Who knew.

The cold dark was a _lot_ bigger now. Maria was used to the cold dark under the mountains, and there were no mountains here.

Well, if things were solid where she wanted them to be-

Maria took a small handful of the glowy stuff and threw it down to the _‘ground’_. It scattered across the invisible surface, lighting things up some. She kept walking forwards, scattering the glowy stuff, trying to figure out where she was.

It was big, at least. Really _really_ big. She kept thinking about it, but she couldn’t figure out where she was.

A moment’s thought of home, though, told her that she still knew _exactly_ where that was, which was a cheering thought. It seemed awfully far away though, further-

Further than the Pict Homeworld.

Maria stopped again and looked around. She threw her next handful of glowy stuff outwards, into the dark. It started drifting slowly away. She threw out more handfuls, behind her and in front of her and above her, even below the path she was on, and they all drifted slowly away, dispersing following complicated interactions of simple physics.

_Vacuum, then,_ Maria thought, very satisfied with herself even as she realized she’d let herself get stuck by fuzzy thinking- she hadn’t properly conceived of as far as she could _where,_ and had ended up totally missing the mountains.

But she _could_ step out to space!

The glowy stuff in the bag was running low, but the cloud of it around her was still drifting about. She wasn’t going to run into anything here, she didn’t think, and anyway her shoes were coated in the glowy stuff she’d been walking through, so she kept the bag open but didn’t throw any more, just kept walking, thinking about how this could be working.

Obviously, _she_ wasn’t in vacuum, because otherwise she’d be dead. It was kind of cold, but no more unpleasant than an autumn morning, which was definitely not how cold space was. It was also really, really dark, so she must be _really_ far out, far enough that Empress Nanshe hadn’t even made any stars nearby.

Maria hadn’t thought that there _was_ a that far away.

Maybe she’d found the edge of the universe. That could be why she had no idea where she was- there just wasn’t that much _here_ to be certain of where everything else was.

Okay, so, say this is the edge of the universe. How was she not dead?

She wasn’t in a cycle of dying-coming-back, so being _Seelenkind_ wasn’t it. Unless physics and science and reality got _really_ weird around the edges- which they could, Maria allowed, the edge of the universe seemed like a prime location for things could go screwy- then the only other explanation was magic.

It was probably a little bit of both.

Maria wondered if there were _people_ out here, and what they’d be like. Probably there _could_ have been a natural reason why things could just be solid wherever she wanted them to be, but that would be sort of ridiculous. It made more sense for there to be people out here, who could do magic and really good science, better than the stuff back home, and use technomancy to keep people alive in vacuum if they just wanted to go out for a walk-around.

That sounded like an _awesome_ sort of place, to her.

“Uh, ‘scuse me.”

Maria very nearly fell over, she was so surprised.

The person who had come up behind her was really tall, like as tall as _Dyadya_ Vanya. They were big across the shoulders like him, too, but not as thick everywhere else. They were all in black, and their messily-tied back hair was black, and their eyes were black. They would have just looked like a white face floating in space, except they were dusty all over.

“Hi,” they said. “I haven’t seen you before, where did you come from?”

“Back there-” Maria said, and turned to point.

Behind her, there were stars- some brighter, some dimmer. The path she’d made for herself had thickened, and looked like it might actually be approaching solidity, or a semblance of solidity, like a planet’s rings seen from far away. It was still white and glowy, but it glittered more now, like it had managed to snag some ice chips.

Maybe the edge of the universe was closer to home than she’d thought; or else Empress Nanshe just had a _lot_ of Ramman no one knew about yet.

“Huh,” the person said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know there was anything over there.”

“There’s a lot of things over there,” Maria told them. “Have you ever heard of a lady called Empress Nanshe, or a people called the Ramman?”

“No, I haven’t.”

The person was very clearly interested.

“Well, the Ramman are the spirits of the stars,” Maria said. “And Nanshe is their Queen. So if you haven’t heard of Nanshe, then you haven’t heard of Honalee, have you?”

“No.”

“Honalee is where people are born being able to do magic,” she said. “Like this.”

“Like what?” they asked.

“Like _this,_ ” Maria said, pointing the path.

“Oh,” they said. “I’d always thought that was just how things worked.”

“Well that might be part of it, for here,” Maria said. “But yeah, this is magic. Where am I?”

The person looked around, seeming vaguely puzzled.

“The end of the universe,” they said, like this was obvious.

“You know, I thought it was. But if this is the end of the universe, how did you get all dusty?”

“Oh!” the person exclaimed. “It was flying through the dust clouds, nebulae, that sort of thing. Always happens.”

They started trying to brush themself off.

_“Flying?”_ Maria asked. “Without a ship?”

“I don’t know what a ship is,” the person admitted. “Is it this?”

They spread a massive pair of black wings. Maria had to take a deep breath and tell herself they were black, not white. The demon’s wings over _Elti_ ’s throne in the Jagdshall were white, all six of them. This person’s were black, the black so deep that they sheened purple in the light, and were a little dusty from the- space things.

“Are you an angel?” she asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know, what’s an angel?”

Maria explained.

“But there are ones who tried to rebel against God, and they got sent to Hell,” she finished with. “They’re demons now. But _Zio_ Cristoforo says that they look _exactly_ like angels, even if they can’t do the things they did as angels without getting deals for people’s souls or killing them to gather the power to do it, so you have to be careful. There was a really nasty demon once. It killed my _Großvati;_ so my _Elti_ killed _it._ ”

“I don’t think I can be an angel,” the person said. “I’ve never met this _‘God’_ , and it sounds like I’d definitely know if I had. So I suppose I can’t be a demon either. I’m just me.”

“Oh,” Maria said, realizing she’d completely forgotten something. “Um. Who _are_ you? I’m Maria.”

_“Oh,”_ the person said. “We probably should have asked earlier, shouldn’t we have? I- uh- oh _shoot,_ I haven’t had to tell anyone this-”

They pulled themself together.

“I’m Kelsie,” they said.

“Hello, Kelsie,” Maria said politely.

“Maria?” they asked, a little hesitantly. “If demons are so horrible, and they came from angels, and your _Elti_ killed one, then is your _Elti_ a person like God?”

“ _Oh_ no,” Maria said immediately. “No no no no- there’s _no one_ else like God, only God. _Elti_ is Jagdsprinz, she’s the one who enforces all the laws, especially the magical ones, and makes sure that people keep their promises and vows and oaths and contracts. She’s the only one who can change their terms, or release people from them, at least the magical ones. Other people are allowed to handle the ones that aren’t magical; there are _systems._ But if they’re wrong or unjust or just mess it up, it’s _Elti_ ’s job to fix it. And when people deliberately break the laws, at least the _really_ big ones and the magic ones, then she’s the one who punishes them.”

Kelsie, of course, had never heard of any of this; so then Maria had to tell them about the Hunt and what they did and could have kept going, talking about all the things that were involved with _that,_ but she’d been here a while and should probably go back. Now that she’d been here, she knew she could get to it again, even if she didn’t know _exactly_ where _‘here’_ was.

“Look, I need to go home,” she told Kelsie. “But I can come back with books and things that explain it all better, and a copy of the Jagdsprinz’s Pact for you to keep.”

“I’d like that,” Kelsie said. “Thanks.”

Maria looked at the bag, less than half full now, and then down at the path that had thickened out behind her.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked Kelsie. It seemed like they’d be the person to know, if anyone could tell her.

Kelsie looked at the glowy stuff in the pouch, and then down at the path.

“Well, I don’t know _exactly_ ,” they said. “But speaking from observation, I’d say stardust.”

_Stardust!_

She could take a bit of space home with her!

“Would it be okay if I filled this back up?” she asked.

“I don’t know why you’re asking _me; you’re_ the one who put it there.”

Maria knelt down and scooped up handfuls of the stardust. It didn’t seem to make any sort of dent in the path, which was good. She’d like to be able to walk it again.

When the pouch was full again, she closed it and stuck it in the pocket of her dress. She said goodbye to Kelsie, promised to come back soon, and stepped herself back home.

She appeared almost at the mouth of Isengrim’s Mine, stardust still coating the bottoms of her shoes and sparkling a little on the hem of her dress.

“ _There_ you are,” Sebastian told her. “We were waiting for you to come back. We have to go see _Elti_ and the others.”

* * *

Nadri still felt like she needed to get out of herself, but not nearly as badly as she had a bit ago, because now she knew she _could._ She could leave her body, she didn’t have to try to eat herself up, she could just _step out_ and then whatever was wrong with her- it could just _go away._

She only had to find someone to teach her how to do it.

She wanted to _run_ back to the Jagdshall, but the others were slow, and there was foot traffic because Maria and Sebastian had insisted on taking the road, and it took them forever to get back.

But they did get back, and Nadri pounded up the stairs to the area where _Mitéra_ and _Papà_ and the Jagdsprinz and the others were, her brother and Sebastian and Maria close behind her.

“I need to learn how to do what Sebastian does,” she told her parents. “ _That_ will make me better, not more _doctors._ ”

_Papà_ slid out of his seat, his skirts poofing out around him, so he could be down at her level.

“What can Sebastian do, _figlina_?” he asked.

Nadri was about to explain but Sebastian just plopped down on the floor, and there he was, outside himself.

It was so _unfair_ it was unfair it was unfair why was it so easy for _him-_

She wanted to _bite_ something, but this time it wasn’t herself. She wanted to bite _Sebastian._

The adults did not seem pleased by Sebastian’s spirit-walking abilities.

“Sebastian,” the Jagdsprinz said. “Who taught you how to do that?”

“Nobody,” his shadow answered promptly. “I figured it out myself. It’s _easy._ ”

_“No,”_ Sorcerer Héderváry said, alarmed. “It’s not _supposed_ to be-”

“Look, I can do this too!” Sebastian said cheerfully, and changed into the fawn.

This was also a bad move, apparently. The only person Nadri hadn’t seen before, who must have been the _doctor,_ actually gasped.

_“Goddamit,”_ one of the Kirkland-Héderváry brothers swore. It was probably Edward. Sebastian had said he was grumpy. “ _Apa,_ this one is _your_ problem.”

“Since when is this _my_ problem?” his father demanded.

“Since I’m not a trained sündeyalacgh, is when,” his son retorted. “You _know_ he can’t just be left to run around like this.”

Sebastian retreated back into his body and went to the Jagdsprinz.

“Did I do something wrong?” Nadri heard him ask quietly.

The Jagdsprinz sighed, and picked him up to sit on her lap and hold him.

“No,” she told him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You just need to be taught some things about how to be safe and careful with this.”

“Oh.”

_“Papà,”_ Nadri said, doing her very best to look serious and not-angry and in control. “If I can just _leave._ I won’t have to tear myself out.”

_Papà_ thought a second, and held his arms out.

“Come here?” he asked, and she did, because holding her or Reno made _Papà_ feel better. She closed her eyes and pressed her ear to his chest, so she could listen to his heartbeat, and focused on the citizen bond between her and _Papà_ while he and _Mitéra_ talked. Paying attention to that made her feel like she didn’t exist, in the way that she was _stuck._

“Nadri,” _Papà_ said quietly, after a bit. “János- Sorcerer Héderváry, he can teach you how to do what Sebastian does. But it will take a long time and it’s not going to be easy. If you go learn with him, will you also go to the kümecgh, in the meantime?”

She still didn’t want to see more doctors, even if they _were_ magical, but she _had_ to learn how to do that.

She agreed to go to the kümecgh.

* * *

Sebastian found lessons with Sorcerer Héderváry to be kind of boring, and frustrating. Nadri was there too, since she was going to learn to do what he did, but she couldn’t actually _do_ it yet, so Sorcerer Héderváry kept having to _tell_ her things.

“You have to completely focus on yourself,” he told her, again. “You have to feel your body completely, and understand how it’s just holding the other parts of your soul, and how to get out of it. You can’t figure out where the door is until you have your walls.”

“My body is _all_ walls,” Nadri told him, bitterly.

“It helps some that you feel that way already,” Sorcerer Héderváry said. “But you have to be able to focus on _all_ of it without getting distracted, and you can’t find the door if you’re just going to try tearing through it. You ride out on your breath. Close your eyes, breathe in, and feel how it fills you up. Feel your body- hate it, love it, don’t care that much about it; don’t pay attention to it.”

Nadri was not very good at the last part, so Sebastian just had to sit there until she was breathing in and feeling her body and losing it and then trying again without prompting, so that Sorcerer Héderváry would pay attention to him.

“Follow me,” he told Sebastian and stepped out of his body. Sebastian followed to the place where the shadow parts of souls lived, where no one else could see them.

Sorcerer Héderváry, the first day of lessons, had asked him a lot about what he could do and what he’d done, and eventually told him that he’d gotten the simplest parts- properly focusing and leaving his body- and the hardest parts- manifesting himself to regular sight and changing his shadow into something else, apparently most people _didn’t_ get to that part, or found it so difficult they usually didn’t- and skipped all the middle stuff.

So that was what Sorcerer Héderváry was teaching him.

There was a lot to get to. There was learning how to be mindful of your space, and how other people’s souls looked, and how to tell if there was another spirit-walk going on nearby. There was etiquette for meeting someone else who’d sent their spirit out, and there was learning to leave your body in the care of someone else, especially if you thought you were going to be in danger. There was learning how to interact with or avoid the Honalenier who were sort of half-and-half in and out of this place all the time, the water and mist and weather and stone and star spirits. There was learning about the metaphysics of magic, because that was kind of where they were, and how to interact with it safely and directly, how to understand what something looking a certain way meant-

All sorts of things. It did sound pretty exhausting, and like it would take a long time.

It would probably take even longer than it really had to, because Nadri was along.

At least, when Sorcerer Héderváry decided that Sebastian had learned enough for the day, he’d tell him about their shadows.

Sorcerer Héderváry was a really powerful sündeyalacgh, because he was full _Seelenkind._ He could manifest himself _and_ shape change, just like Sebastian. He looked like a really big black eagle sort of bird, nearly as big as Sebastian when they stood side-by-side. Sorcerer Héderváry called his other form a ‘ _turul’._

“You have the shadow form that looks like your body,” Sorcerer Héderváry told him. “And you have the shadow form that looks like something else. It’s not always an animal- sometimes it’s a plant, or a rock, or some sort of light. Most often it’s a different person. Most people’s other shadow form looks like their ideal version of themselves, their self-conception. Everyone has two forms, even if they can’t spirit-walk or shape change; except spirits and huldrene. The five different physical spirits don’t have multiple forms, because they’re semi-permanently always here _anyway;_ and huldrene get three. One is their body as human, one is their body as whatever animal shape they have, and one is something else.”

“But how do you _know_ that everyone who’s not a spirit gets more than one?” Sebastian asked. “Most of them can’t spirit-walk.”

“You can see it on them. Not sündeyalacgh, or at least not usually, but kümecgh, like who Nadri sees. The kümecgh work with personal mental symbolism to deal with people psychological problems, and your other shadow form will show up there, sooner or later. Nadri might actually find out what hers is before she gets to the point of being able to change.”

Sorcerer Héderváry also asked questions about how long he’d been able to leave his body, and shape change his shadow. He didn’t remember a time when he _couldn’t,_ but Sorcerer Héderváry kept asking anyway. Maybe he thought if he kept asking, Sebastian would remember.

Sebastian didn’t think it would work like that, but at least Sorcerer Héderváry had told him that his shadow form would grow up with him.

That was nice to know. Now Sebastian knew he could look forward to being big and magnificent someday, with huge antlers, like Lord Hiruz.

* * *

Reno was still not entirely convinced that his _Mitéra_ couldn’t be the one to teach him _all_ of his magic, but _Mitéra_ said that he had to go.

At least he had Joseph Kirkland-Héderváry for a teacher, and not Edward. Edward had seemed just as grumpy and mean as Sebastian had said, and his parents had recognized the problem of that right away, and gently supported him in choosing the other brother.

He said he could just call him _‘Joseph’_ , no _‘Sorcerer Kirkland-Héderváry’_ or anything.

“Everybody in the family are sorcerers,” Joseph had told him. “Using titles makes the whole thing really confusing.”

Joseph was surprisingly relaxed, when compared to his brother. Edward, Joseph had told him, was just an intense person, which was why he’d been in government work. He liked things high-powered, even though it annoyed him, because he wasn’t _really_ happy unless something was going wrong _somewhere,_ and he could make a show of his annoyance about being the only person competent enough to fix it _._

The more Reno heard about Edward, the less he liked him.

Verity, the middle triplet, was apparently the weird one of the family, because he’d gone to work for HabéTech’s Research and Development department in astronavigation and astrospace technology.Sorcerer Héderváry was still getting over it.

Joseph was an artist.

Reno liked artists. _Mamma_ was an artist. He himself wrote poetry. Sketching and painting like what _Mamma_ did was fine enough, but it took a really long time and you had to have all sorts of things if you were going to make it look _really_ nice. All you had to have for poetry was your brain and something to record your thoughts.

Sometimes, he and _Mamma_ would go out somewhere, when _Mamma_ had some time off, and _Mamma_ would do a quick painting and he’d write some poetry about wherever they were, and they’d compare what they’d done afterwards. It was fun- no matter _what_ Nadri said.

Joseph showed him some of his pictures. He did more photography than sketching or painting, but he could do those too.

Joseph’s pictures moved.

“But _why?_ ” Reno asked, after Joseph had explained that they weren’t GIFs. It just seemed kind of silly to put work into it when you could do the same thing with a snippet of video and some coding.

“Mum told us old stories when we were little, fantasy stuff from before Martigny,” he said. “Some of them had pictures that move. I know it’s not really impressive or anything, but _I_ like it.”

Well, if you weren’t going to be doing it commercially or on commission, you did art because you liked it. It didn’t matter how practical or reasonable it was.

“Anyway,” Joseph continued. “It might _look_ like something you can do with code, but when you see them in prints-”

He showed those next, and those actually were pretty impressive.

“It’s _easy_ to make paintings that move,” Joseph told him. “All you do is put the magic in the paint and the canvas. But it’s hard to do it with photography, because you have to spell the paper _and_ the lens _and_ the chemicals, _and_ put magic into it at exactly the same time you take the picture. You also have to have a long exposure time, to capture the movement, which means more magic to keep the light from overexposing the paper.”

“Do you sell these?” Reno asked.

Joseph grinned.

“To really rich people who want a status symbol,” he said. “Otherwise I do them for me, or as gifts.”

Reno supposed Maria had been right- you did have to have a lot of different people to know a lot of different things. _Mitéra_ didn’t know anything about _this._

“Do you think I could enchant my poetry?” he asked Joseph.

“Well, how about we find out?”

* * *

She and Sebastian always just kind of assumed that Mr. Edward would be teaching all four of them, so it was sort of strange to Maria that she was the only one he was actually teaching.

Mr. Edward didn’t really have to teach her much of the basics- she knew them already. She wasn’t that interested in doing magic, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t _read_ about it. She knew about the types of magic and glyph-names and resolutes as opposed to affinities and had worked out a couple of her affinities.

Mr. Edward took a look at her list, _hmph_ ed a little bit at it, and dragged her down to the Zauberen Regiment’s building to spend hours in their supply closets, figuring out her affinities for every bit of stone and plant and fruit and random household folk magic odd and end that they’d managed to collect and keep in stock over the centuries.

They weren’t really supply closets. It was more like small warehouse rooms.

Maria’s affinities took a while, because working out affinities was kind of fun for an hour or so, but then it got really boring and tedious and she just didn’t _care_ any longer.

“When am I even going to _use_ kapok wood?”

“You won’t know unless you know what you can do with it! You have to be prepared to work with whatever you have on you!”

“I’m not going to be a _Hunt_ sorcerer,” she complained. “I’m not even going to be a _police_ sorcerer. I want to go to _space._ ”

“And what if there’s a catastrophic failure in the ship systems and the life support goes out and you’re venting atmosphere and you’re the only one with enough magic to do something about it, but you don’t know your affinities for any of it?”

At least, after _that_ particular talk, after he’d finished running her through the Hunt’s stores, he’d take her back to his apartment and unpack scraps of spaceship materials that he’d asked his brother Verity to send him, and she got to learn her affinities for _those._

_That_ was a lot more interesting, and eventually Mr. Edward had his brother send along some astronavigation problems, and when Maria had finished with the math he’d send them back to his brother along with his next request for materials, and then his brother would send new ones to do back.  

Maria didn’t really think anything of it until, one day, Mr. Edward took her straight to his apartment, and his brother was there.

She stopped immediately upon walking in the door.

“Mr. Edward?”

“Verity just wants you to do some math, Maria,” he said. “And he brought some schematics, because he’s not legally allowed to leave them unsupervised, so he couldn’t just send them over.”

Well- math and ship schematics.

Mr. Verity handed her a packet of problems to do, and a pencil, and Maria started to work through them. Sometimes she had to ask him for the value of variables the problems assumed she’d memorized, or had access to a cheat sheet for, like the mass of a certain ship design or the normal curvature of a certain section of a lightspeed lane or the radius of a certain gate or the gravity that a particular extraterrestrial body exerted at a certain point in space, but those were the only questions she needed answered, and she worked steadily through them.

As she finished them, Mr. Verity sent digital copies off to- somewhere, and talked about the schematics when she took a short break between problems.

She’d finished the problems, and Mr. Verity had been pointing out interesting things in the designs of some ships for a while, when his computer beeped. He looked at it quickly, and then back at Maria.

“Did you know you’ve gotten every single problem I ever sent you right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Maria told him.

“And that set I brought you today,” he said. “Was the first stage of recalibrating the lightspeed beacons on the run from Brioclite to Docury.”

Maria knew about the Brioclite-Docury run. It was mostly a hypothetical, because no one really _wanted_ to go from one side of the galaxy to the other just for trade- there were easier if less-direct ways to get it- but it was a useful base for large-scale astronavigation calculations, the sort that needed like two hundred different component parts of thirty-step equations to make sure you weren’t going to send someone haring off into a star or a planet or even just slipping out of the lane and getting stranded somewhere in dead space, having to broadcast and hope on the miniscule chance that someone on the lightspeed lane would pick it up.

“I figured that out,” she said. “After the first couple of problems.”

The first stage of recalibrating- which had to be done at _least_ once a year, but that was really pushing your safety zone, it was best to do it every month or three, and ship navigations did it constantly, since things were always _moving-_ was always recalculating the changed gravitational forces and physical positions of objects, plus some stuff about light Maria could do the math for but didn’t really understand just yet, with some pretty large restricted variables for traffic volume, which meant you were really doing _two_ calculations for the value of one- one calculation for the lowest traffic volume, always a single small ship; and one for the highest traffic volume, which depended on the strength of the beacons at any given point.

“If you wanted me to do the second step,” Maria told him. “I’m not really as good at those, because it’s a lot of little numbers having to do with materials engineering and I don’t know a lot about that, and I don’t understand what it wants me to do. I just know what numbers there are supposed to be, and that’s okay for the light stuff in the recalculating because I know what everything _else_ is supposed to be doing; but there’s too much uncertainty when I don’t understand _most_ of it-”

“Maria,” Mr. Verity interrupted her. “How old are you?”

“I’m ten,” Maria told him, getting kind of suspicious again.

“And you want to go to space?”

“I _do!_ ”

“Do you mind learning materials engineering math?”

“No.”

“Then I think we can work something out,” Mr. Verity told her. “Because if I hadn’t explained the schematics to you, it looked to me like you would have sat down and done the math until there weren’t any problems left.”

“No, I still would have taken a break,” Maria told him. “ _Mère_ says it’s good to take breaks when you’ve been doing work for a while.”

“Your _Mère_ is right, and I’m glad you’ve listened to her,” Mr. Verity said. “But Maria, most people take a couple of days to go through those, and that’s working fast. We have mathematician teams at HabéTech who will spend _weeks_ working on the recalibrations, because they’re double- and triple-checking each other’s work, or stuck debating, or their answer doesn’t match the computers’ so they have to check the computers _and_ each other to see where the error is. You haven’t made a mistake and I had a mathematician friend at HabéTech look over your math just now, and she says that what you did is exactly what they did a couple of months ago, number for number.”

“Well I’m good at it,” Maria said. “I can do jump drives and I can do gates and I can do lightspeed paths and I can do flicker engines-”

“You can do _flicker engines?_ ”

“Yeah, I checked,” she told him. “I found the equations in a book and I did them a couple of times while _Elti_ was out traveling, because I could check my answers against where she was, and I did it right every time then too. I’m good at math.”

“Maria,” Mr. Verity said. “You are a _lot_ better than _‘good at math’_. Can you do this for everything?”

Maria wasn’t sure exactly what _‘this’_ was, but-

“I’m in special math classes at school,” she told him. “So I know I’m _really_ good at space math and pretty good at regular physics and okay at chemistry math and the theory stuff.”

“Verity is _trying,_ Maria,” Mr. Edward said. “To get around to asking you if you want to study magic with him and his people over at HabéTech, instead of here with me.”

“We can teach you astrotechnomancy,” Mr. Verity said hopefully. “And materials engineering and mechanics and plenty of technical things. You can help us with our math. If you want to. We’d still have to ask your _Elti_ and _Mère,_ but-”

“If I tell _Elti_ I want to, even if it _is_ HabèTech, she’ll let me,” Maria told him. “I want to, please.”   

* * *

Nadri didn’t like going to the kümecgh, but she’d agreed to see her; and if she said she didn’t want to go any longer _Papà_ and _Mitéra_ might not let her go see Sorcerer Héderváry for lessons any longer. It had been two years of trying and she _still_ hadn’t managed to spirit-walk but she was getting better at ignoring things- she could almost ignore everything but how wrong she felt, now.

Kümecgh worked with a lot of incense, and she still wasn’t that used to it. They also went into a trance for their work. It wasn’t what she was trying to learn, or what Sebastian and Sorcerer Héderváry could do, because the kümecgh-

They kind of read your mind, or at least that was simple explanation. It didn’t make her feel comfortable at _all._

It didn’t really matter if human minds were too complicated and personal for anyone to actually _read_ your thoughts- your Nation excluded, since they were kind of you and you were also them- the layers of personal symbolism and outwardly unintuitive connections were _hers_ just as much as her thoughts were, and the kümecgh _was_ still looking at them, even if she didn’t _understand_ them just yet.

Kümecgh were good for psychological counseling, especially working out subconscious or thoughtlessly-ingrained issues- but Nadri _knew_ what was wrong with her, and didn’t need someone poking around in her head to try to figure out the _‘real’_ reason, no matter how gentle or kind or nice they were about it.

Nadri clenched her jaw as the feeling of being _accompanied_ slowly grew in her, the kümecgh quietly slipping into place to observe her, and decided that _today_ she was going to make things difficult.

She thought about Venice, the turns of the streets and the canals and the old façades that were fragile with age and restoration, the weight of time and history that came with it, and stripped all the color of the buildings, the streets, away. She left Venice-in-her-mind a white city, the color of death, devoid of people. She pushed the mainland far away and sunk the canals deeper, as deep as the trenches in Póli Thálassas where the Sea Serpents and the giant squid and other, unseen things lived. The sky was angry sunset red, here, the sun yellow and unforgiving, the blue of the water cold and unwelcoming, crusting the piers of the buildings with white salt and implying terrible things below the surface.

In Saint Mark’s Square, the winged lion went black and large and stalked off its pedestal, searching out the kümecgh, or anything else it might find.

Nadri sat herself down in Saint Mark’s Basilica and gave the interior back its color, so she’d have something to look at.

The kümecgh was searching out personal symbolism? Fine. Let her try to puzzle things out through the seeming of Honalenier mysticism she’d made so starkly obvious in using the five colors; and the things she’d pulled from real places.

Or what the winged lion meant, black, just _following_ her. Let _her_ feel like she was being watched, for once.

* * *

One of the reasons Sebastian liked Lord Hiruz was because he was really old, so he knew about things even _Elti_ hadn’t been around for.

“How old _are_ you?” was the first real question he’d asked Lord Hiruz, after he’d stopped asking the little questions, the ones just about history.

“When I was a fawn the Tylwyth were a traveler’s scare-tale from Avalon,” Lord Hiruz had told him. “The True Fairies and the pixies and the brownies and the gnomes and the sprites and the goblins and all the others, those the Tylwyth Teg call the Small Ones, lived in the fields and the plains on the edge of the forest, and we called them the Knocker-Hills, for the goblins that mined the bronze and the stone and the flint and the chalk to make the caves that became fairy mounds and build their villages with their garden-plots and their goats and their sheep and the large furred cows. All the mountain ranges scraped the sky higher than even they have been now, and Amphitrite Kataiis was still a small girl, wandering about the barren sea floor accompanied by no one but the First Serpent.”

This had been incredibly impressive to Sebastian at age seven, and looking back, it hadn’t really gotten less impressive. He’d asked his second real question when he was nine, and had thought a little more about the practical implications of this.

“If you’re that old,” he’d asked. “As old as Andvari and Wángmŭ and even older than Beli Mawr, then why aren’t _you_ King of the Jägerskov?”

“What price will you pay to be told a secret, Princeling?” Lord Hiruz asked him in turn.

He’d been thinking about it for two years, and he’d come up with some things, but they all seemed not enough, or probably too much.

“How much should you pay to learn a secret?” he asked Maria, who’d been working with Mr. Verity at HabéTech for just about a year now and knew some things about secrets. She’d had to sign _actual contracts_ about not telling secrets. _Elti_ had witnessed them and everything.

“This isn’t about money, is it?” she asked, frowning. “It depends on the secret, I’d guess.”

“It’s why the Jägerskov had no King until Gwyn ap Llud Llaw.”

“That’s not a _secret,_ ” Maria told him. “It’s because of Isengrim and the Irvinrkallrene.”

“No, there’s someone who could have been,” Sebastian said. “Before that.”

“You’re not asking _Ereshkigal,_ are you?” Maria asked. “Because you _really_ shouldn’t do that, you should just walk away.”  

“No, it’s the person who could have been.”

“Do you trust them?” his sister asked suspiciously.

“I do.”

“Then you could try trading a secret for a secret.”

“I don’t know any good secrets,” Sebastian said.

“I do,” Maria said. “I’ve been trying to find a good time to tell you.”

She told him.

Sebastian followed Lord Hiruz around until the huge stag walked off into the forest to be alone, in the Irvinrkallrene glade.

“I’m willing to pay a secret to know why you aren’t King of the Jägerskov,” he said.

“And what is this secret, Princeling?”

“At the end of the universe,” Sebastian told him. “There’s a city shining silver, floating in space at the end of a path of stardust and ice, guarded by a person with wings as dark as the void and a sword of ice, who has flown through nebulae and the dust and gas clouds of galaxies and stars and planets being born. If you walk through the city to the far side, there is a cantilever half-bridge. If you stand on the end of it and reach out, you can touch the edge of creation, and the contact-point sends ripples along the boundaries of everything. The nothingness-chaos outside of reality that doesn’t exist will sing back to you the truths of all the twilight-edges and the cracks and the unseen spaces and the parts forbidden that cannot be described even if you tore out your own memory and gave it to someone else so they could see what you saw and feel what you felt and know what you knew. Maria’s been, you can ask her.”

Lord Hiruz stood very still. Overhead, the flowering rowan trees whispered in the breeze.

“That is a very good secret, Princeling,” he said after a few moments. “I shall keep it well.”

“I know,” Sebastian told him. “Thank you.”

“Sit,” the stag suggested, folding his legs beneath him. Sebastian sat down in the grass across from him.

“I could have been King of the Jägerskov,” Lord Hiruz said. “I should have been King of the Jägerskov. Ereshkigal came to me at the Tree and the Well when I was a young buck, with antlers of only three points. Wángmŭ was a young girl in silk robes too big for her asking questions of the tengu and the qīngniăo in what were to be her mountains, Andvari had not yet left for the darkness under his, and Amphitrite Kataiis had only just come a-land to give birth to Arion and Kore Despoina. The Queen of Irkalla took me to the top of the highest peak in the Mountains East and West, and told me that I could be King from the Sea in the south through to the north shore of Avalon, from the mountains upon which we stood to the far sea cave of Pwffio, the First Dragon. She said she could put the sun in my antlers and I could be the Day to Ahes’s Night; the Land to Amphitrite’s Sea. Everything west of the Mountains that lay between the bounds of Sea, including Avalon, would be mine to rule as King. This would be the Summerlands, forever warm and blooming and beautiful, joyful.”

“Wow,” Sebastian breathed. “But you-”

“I looked her in the eyes,” Lord Hiruz told him. “And said: _‘The ruzdrene have no King, nor the True Fairies and the Folk of the Knocker-Hills, nor the griffins and the mist spirits in the canyon wastes, nor the huldrene in the forest or the oreads of these mountains. We are happy and content and if that is what makes the Summerlands, Ereshkigal of Irkalla, then we have found it without your Kings’;_ and bounded back down the mountain.”

“Oh.”

Lord Hiruz sighed, heavily.

“And so I did not become King,” the stag said. “Ereshkigal gave the Sun to Chicomoztoc and the Summer to Lintukoto and the Tylwyth left Avalon and came to the Knocker-Hills, subjugating the True Fairies and the Folk and slaughtering the ruzdrene. The Hills came to have a King; and the rest of us tried to continue on without one. I stayed when the rest of my people fled to Lanka Kubera because I knew that they were all _my_ responsibility. Then we of the forest and the canyon wastes and the mountains were made to host the Hunt, and _‘King of the Jägerskov’_ became a lesser title for the Jagdsprinz. Erlkönig was young when the demon came, a child in comparison to I or Amphitrite or Ahes whom he had killed; and I took up my duties to the forest and the people in it too late, King in all but name and true power, as Knight-Protector. Because _I_ did not becoming King, Princeling, Honalee has known war and violence and conquest and genocide. What should have been the Summerlands has been conquered and attacked, and I have been able to do nothing but attempt to control the consequences.”

That was- that was a lot of debt.

“So _Elti-_ ”

“There has never been a Jagdsprinz who has known of this,” Lord Hiruz cut him off. “And there never shall be lest you or I or Ereshkigal speaks of it. When Ereshkigal brought Erlkönig to the Jägerskov she sought me out, with the Helm, and showed it to me. It was made in my image, she told me, because the Jagdsprinz stood in the place that I had rejected but could never discard. I told her that I had never forgotten, and that I was to join the Hunt to look out for the people of the Irvinrdisganheid and do what I could to ensure peace in Honalee.”

He stopped, and flicked his ears.

“She promised me, then,” he told Sebastian. “That when the time came that the Hunt was no longer needed, this would all be the Summerlands, as it was meant to be, and I its King.”

* * *

Reno had learned a couple of different types of calligraphy for the sole purpose of enchanting what he wrote, like how Joseph enchanted the photographs. He _had_ worked out how to enchant his poetry- it hadn’t been very hard- but it had been lacking something.

There was magic naturally in words, of course. The High Legends focused mostly on the power of names, and it was one of those things that had leaked over into or developed in parallel Earth-side, but really it was all words. Naming was just the easiest and simplest aspect of it. Description was the next most complicated part, and then after that it was stories.

People forgot how much power there was in telling stories, much less writing them down. Writers and poets could wax lyrical about them, and readers and listeners generally enjoyed it when they did, but people didn’t take it quite seriously enough.

It wasn’t _really_ magic, people said.

Blood and soul magic wasn’t _really_ magic, either, but it was the most basic and, arguably, the most powerful. Also some of the most dangerous, but that was just how these things worked.

The thing with writing and stories was that they didn’t _have_ to me magical to be powerful. In fact, usually they weren’t.

But thinking about stories had gotten the Jagdsprinz and Reno’s other half-siblings to Honalee, and in the end to the defeat of the demon. The story Keld Schumacher had told had gotten the Genist movement started, and drawn the lines of the War of the Republican Succession and set up galactic politics the way it was now. Even when the effects of a story or some words wasn’t as far-reaching as that, they were still powerful. Self-identification, renaming, labeling- those were the easy non-magical, non-story examples of that power.

And of course, lies. Lies were stories.

In a way, Reno had come to decide, the Jagdsprinz and the Hunt regulated words and stories. It was contracts, yes, but contracts required words and relied on the specific meanings of words and their context and their intent-

In the end, it was all words. People _existed_ in language the same way they existed in magic or in oxygen or their bodies. You couldn’t have people without language, words spoken or written or signed or _somehow_ communicated.

So Reno read. He read _a lot,_ starting with mythology and legends and religious texts, whatever he could get his hands on, and then set to working through fairy tales and old fantasy and science fiction, the stuff that had been _wrong_ but informed humanity when they first came to magic and space, and from then whatever he could get his hands on.

He read history and asked _Mamma_ what she remembered about it, and compared the two. He read realistic fiction and autobiographical works and learned what stories people told about themselves. He read nonfiction, and learned what stories people told about the universe.

There were a lot, and not all of them worked together. Most of them didn’t work together- but that was okay.

People were complicated.

In the meantime, while he figured out the best use for all of this, he’d write his own words and learn what everybody else said he should about magic.

* * *

Maria had been wanting to show the others the Shining City at the end of the universe for a while now, but their thirteenth birthday was the first time when she _knew_ they would all be free, so it had taken this long.

She and Sebastian were sitting on the end of the cantilevered half-bridge, looking past the edge of reality to the nothingness-chaos beyond, legs dangling off the side, _almost_ over the edge but not quite.

Nadri and Reno were back on further ground, Reno because he was too scared to come further, Nadri because- well, she hadn’t actually said.

 Anyway, she walking over now.

“What happens if something crosses the edge?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Maria told her. “Kelsie!”

They were sort of hovering overhead, keeping an eye on the four of them.

“I don’t know either,” Kelsie said.

“That’s not where everyone went?” Maria asked. She’d always thought that the people of the Shining City had moved on, over the edge.

“Everyone who?”

“The people who lived here.”

“No one’s ever lived here,” Kelsie said. “You’re the only people to ever come here.”

“But who _built_ all this, then?” Maria asked.

Kelsie just shrugged.

“It’s always been here,” they said.

Something shiny flew over her head and crossed over the edge of reality.

“Huh,” Nadri said, watching the stone she’d thrown interact with the nothingness-chaos and non-existence.

_“Why would you do that!”_ Reno shrieked, from the other end of the bridge.

“I mean, that’s,” Sebastian said, uncertainly, also watching the stone. “Hm. I don’t know.”

“Should we leave that there?” Maria said doubtfully.

“I don’t think it’s hurting anything,” Nadri said.

“It’s kind of unsettling, though,” Maria told her, and slipped off the end of the bridge so she could walk out of the universe and retrieve the stone. She turned around to walk back and stopped, examining the universe from the outside.

She could see Sebastian, amongst a lot of other things, but her brother looked like he was about to panic, so she tossed the stone back over the edge so he’d know she wasn’t _stuck_ or anything, and took her time looking at things.

When she was satisfied that she _understood_ that thing light did in the astronavigation calculations, Maria went back and sat down on the end of the bridge.

_“Don’t **do** that!” _her brother yelled at her, tackling her in a terrified hug.

_“ **WHY** would you do that!” _Reno screamed from the confines of solid ground.

“I know how to get _everywhere,_ ” Maria reminded them, a little annoyed. “I knew how to get back in, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone.”

* * *

Nadri was fourteen- _fourteen;_ she had been at this for- and she _still_ couldn’t spirit-walk.

She kept getting _almost_ there, able to ignore everything but how _wrong_ she felt, and Sorcerer Héderváry kept telling her she had to _ignore it, let it go-_ she couldn’t _do_ that, this was part of her _soul_ and it was _wrong!_

She kept _trying_ to let herself leave her body but it was _trapping_ her here she was _stuck_ it was _in the way-_

To keep her parents happy, and the kümecgh happy, but mostly to keep Reno from worrying and getting all anxious and teary whenever she had to get him to heal herself back up, it wasn’t fair to him _he_ was having _fun_ with his magic he didn’t have fun when he had to heal _her,_ Nadri hadn’t done anything to herself, at least nothing really big, in the last few years.

But today, this was too much.

She sunk her teeth into the flesh of her arm and _bit,_ pushed down with her blunt teeth and scratched with her weak fingernails and _why_ couldn’t she have claws to tear or teeth to rend, if she had to be stuck with this _anger_ and _frustration_ and _wrongness_ all the time couldn’t the universe _at least_ have had the decency to give her what she needed to _get out?_

Blood welled up in her mouth, and Nadri breathed out.

* * *

Sebastian hadn’t really doubted Sorcerer Héderváry when he’d said that his shadow form would grow with him, but it was still nice to be able to look in the magical form of a little pond and see his antlers growing in. He wasn’t a fawn anymore- he was an adolescent buck elk, and right now, his antlers _itched._

They were on the edge of the Jägerskov, Honalee-side. Sebastian didn’t need to come any longer, Sorcerer Héderváry had taught him everything he needed to know and he was technically a sündeyalacgh now, even if he wasn’t interested in claiming it.

The only thing Sebastian was interested in right now was getting his antlers to stop _itching._

It was _infuriating,_ and he’d been scratching his head all over the side of a tree this session, leaving little tatters of velvet in the bark. Sorcerer Héderváry was perched up in one of the thicker branches, in his turul form, and kept _chuckling_ at him whenever he stopped for long enough to mutter about how it was _totally unfair_ that the second form of your shadow soul, if it happened to be an animal, took on some of the same characteristics as it.

“I imagine that this is the same frustration huldrene have with their sex drives in human form,” Sorcerer Héderváry called down as Sebastian lost his patience and just started head-butting the tree, rearing up a little to knock his antlers into the wood.

“This is _not_ the same as that!” Sebastian shouted back, and his next slam into the tree made it shake a little. It wasn’t a very old or very big tree. “What sort of things do turul have to deal with, huh?”

“The turul is a mythological eagle-like bird in the Hungarian tradition,” Sorcerer Héderváry told him. He sounded rather smug about it. “I don’t _have_ problems like this.”

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, Sebastian could actually knock the tree right over.

He was pulling back for another rear into the tree when the deer part of him took over. His hooves planted firmly in the dirt and his ears went up, swiveling around.

There was something in the woods.

“Sebastian?” Sorcerer Héderváry asked.

A little growl.

Sebastian turned and _ran._ He bounded over the forest-edge brush and long grasses into the hills, scrambling up and over at least one before he managed to calm down enough to think. He could still smell the predator after him.

That fact was briefly distracting- your shadow soul could _smell?_ He’d never noticed _that_ before- but finally he got himself mostly under control, and reminded himself that he _was_ a _Seelenkind,_ full _Seelenkind,_ and that spirit-walking was basically second-nature to him, and he should actually do something to prove that.

At the top of the next hill, he whirled around and presented his antlers.

Charging up the hill after him was a giant black lion, from mane to tail-tuft, with giant silver wings.

They were too hard to be really feathers, and in the split second when the lion was just not _quite_ close enough to get him, at basically the same time that Sebastian got to see that the lion’s eyes were honey-gold, he realized that the lion’s wings were made of steel feathers.

He tried to head-butt the lion the same way he’d done the tree, but the lion was heavier than him and had more momentum. Sebastian was bowled over, hooves kicking as he tried to catch the lion but those were teeth on his neck, and-

The lion didn’t kill him. He heard a playful growl, and then there was a massive clap of wings and a rush of air that made his eyes water, and Sorcerer Héderváry was pulling the lion back by the mane.

“I feel _right!_ ” he heard Nadri say, from the lion, as he scrambled back to his hooves. “I feel _right!_ ”

“Don’t do you _dare_ do that, Nia Adriana!” Sorcerer Héderváry yelled at her. “Sebastian was going to _gore you_ if he’d gotten the chance, and you’re here as part of your _soul-_ do you even _know_ the sort of damage you can sustain from your soul being attacked-”

Shaking, Sebastian tuned the rest of the yelling out.

He was going to go to Lord Hiruz, after this session, and ask him how to fight properly, as an elk.

* * *

“I felt _right,_ Reno,” Nadri told her brother breathlessly. “I felt _right._ ”

She was smiling wide, actually _happy_ for once, and Reno was glowing with joy that way he had when _he_ was happy and everyone around him was happy and he was just caught in this feedback loop of good feelings.

Nadri had never understood how someone could feel like that, until today.

“But you’re okay, right?” Reno asked her. “Sebastian didn’t-”

“He couldn’t touch me,” she told him. “And all I did was scare him. I said I was sorry and he said it was okay. _Now,_ since I’ve done it, Sorcerer Héderváry says that he can start teaching me how not to hurt myself or other people, but that shouldn’t take _really_ long. I’m not trying to learn all of the sündeyalacgh stuff, like Sebastian did.”

“Isn’t he going to make you learn it all, though?” he asked. “He made Sebastian learn it since he shifted right away, and you did that today.”

“No I didn’t,” Nadri told him.

Her brother looked confused.

“But you-”

“I came out that way,” Nadri said. “Reno- Reno, _I figured it out._ I don’t _have_ a human shadow form, it’s just the Venetian lion. It’s not something _inside_ that’s wrong with me, it’s _this-_ ”

She gestured to her whole body.

“ _This_ is what doesn’t match. This isn’t what I _look like_. This isn’t _me._ ”

* * *

Tomorrow morning Maria was going to check in to her dorm at the Haidell Winter Creek School on Eoswides, but tonight, she was having dinner with the Honda-Brynjarsson family.

She hadn’t really been _that_ surprised when the people in charge of HabèTech had invited her to come have dinner- she was leaving working with Mr. Verity and helping out the Research and Development teams with math and technomancy because she was going to be going to this private school, and she was the Jagdsprinz’s daughter and a certified astronavigational genius. It might have been a little more strange if they _hadn’t_ invited her.

And it would have been an okay dinner, except for the really quite obvious matchmaking plan going on around the table.

She hadn’t been suspicious when they sat her down next to the company heir- he was about her age, almost sixteen to her just over fourteen-and-a-half, and age grouping was the sort of thing adults did.

She’d gotten _very_ suspicious very quickly, though, when his parents and the few extended family members started talking him up.

Maria wondered if _Elti,_ or more likely _Mère,_ saw this coming, and that was why _Elti_ had suddenly agreed with _Mère_ that she and Sebastian should go away to private boarding school with Reno and Nadri, when she’d been stubbornly insisting that public school was _absolutely_ good enough for the two of them; _she’d_ had money growing up and she and her brother and sister had been in public school the whole way through and she’d sent Arik and Isolde to the public schools in Martigny-

She hadn’t wanted to stay after dinner, but the heir- Noah- had been clearly prompted to take her to the family library and show her around. It was an okay library, in Maria’s estimation- mostly it was family records and personal collections, but there was an entire separately-secured section that was just the research notes and papers that had been done by family members or the key pieces of HabèTech’s proprietary scientific discoveries, from all the way back to the very beginning of the company. If you had the right authorizations then, somewhere in that archive, you could find the original schematics for the jump drive on the _Enlightenment_ , or Sorcerer Héderváry’s research notes that he’d left the company when he walked out, or Cassiel Navin’s formula for the technomancer converters that powered just about everything, nowadays, and weren’t much a secret any longer but were still of important historical value.

Maria thought that the Hunt’s archive in the Fürsten-Universität was much more impressive. It had all of _their_ records, the day-to-day stuff and the financial records digitized, while the Zauberen Regiment’s collection of sorcerers’ black books and copies from King Rāvaṇa were left in physical format, the information in a huge digital index. Mr. Edward had taken her in there a few times when she was working with Mr. Verity but hadn’t quite finished with him yet, and shown her how the Hunt’s claim to library space was the reason the library complex was the biggest building on campus.

“Look,” Noah said quietly once he’d led them into a far corner of the library, a nice little alcove with a window. “I’m sorry they were weird, don’t accept another invitation to come to dinner unless you want them to pressure you into dating me.”

“You didn’t have to tell me,” Maria told him. “I figured that out when they started talking about how great you are at chemistry.”

Noah looked suddenly relieved, and she liked him a little better.

“It’s just that it’s family open season on my marriage prospects now,” he told her. “It’s tradition, and they’ve got the family and the company in mind. You’re their top choice for me, because you’re full _Seelenkind_ and an astromathematical genius. Mother said she sees a lot of Cassiel Navin and Csaba Brynjarsson-Héderváry in you, looking over your magic and your math and the work you’ve done with Verity and the others down in Research and Development.”

That was a really backhanded sort of compliment, and Maria made sure that she showed her disgust.

“Maybe tell your mother that she shouldn’t compare people to demon-summoning necromancer _witches_ if she wants them to marry you,” she suggested, and stepped herself out of there and back to her room before it could get any worse.

She was _very_ happy she was going to Haidell Winter Creek in the morning, and not working for HabèTech one day longer.

* * *

Reno liked the Haidell Winter Creek School. It was kind of nice boarding away from home, and the campus was pretty, and the actual Winter Creek was around for when he got sick of being around so much _dirt_ and just needed some water.

The people were okay, too. Some of them were clearly out to get into his social group because he was Princess of Póli Thálassas and _Seelenkind_ and all that, the same way that people were trying to get in with Sebastian or Maria because they were the Jagdsprinz’s children, because there were always social pragmatists. Some of them were blinded by the romance of the ideal, too, but they were easier to ignore. Reno felt kind of sorry for them, actually.

Mostly people were just nice, and didn’t care all that much. Haidell Winter Creek was _very_ expensive, and beyond that exclusive, it was just the rude ones and the ones who hadn’t gotten over their idealizations yet that were the problem.

Well, some of the otherwise okay ones were a problem, but only with Nadri.  

Nadri didn’t fit at Haidell Winter Creek, and everybody knew it.

Reno- he didn’t really want to think about it like this, because it made him uncomfortable and kind of guilty and he couldn’t tell if it was him being anxious or if it was a problem with the school or if it was just a culture clash, but-

Haidell Winter Creek was too human, for Nadri.

If he was being totally honest, Haidell Winter Creek was too human for him and Sebastian and Maria, too. It wasn’t that nobody here was fey or fey-blooded or didn’t know anything about magic- most of them had learned the basics, Haidell Winter Creek had a pretty good general human sorcery curriculum- it was that it wasn’t _Honalenier._

The people here had never lived with selkies and rusalka, or huldrene and mist spirits. Magic wasn’t sunk into their bones like it was with them, or the layers and minutiae of duties and responsibilities and debts and favors and promises that you traded off of and took into account as part of your social interactions, usually without thinking about it, and probably a bunch of other things that were still making Reno uncomfortable, but that he hadn’t been able to pin down yet.

He and Sebastian and Maria could pass as human, not Honalenier, okay. Sometimes they’d slip and Sebastian would remind people not to go barefoot outside because you didn’t know who’d used it as a toilet lately, or Maria would specify what she was paying off with a little gift or a favor done and make the human friends she’d acquired uncomfortable by explicitly mentioning the social fabric that humans ignored as part of their construction of politeness, or Reno would ask why they hadn’t given their mother’s name too when they introduced themselves with their surnames, but those were allowed, because they were odd in a charming way and served the sort of _Seelenkind_ exoticness they were kind of expected to have.

Nadri, who’d just found her claws and her teeth and wasn’t about to tuck her sharp Honalenier edges in the way the rest of them had, to make socializing easier- people left her alone in person, but talked about her where they thought he or Sebastian or Maria couldn’t hear them.

Nadri was perfectly happy being left alone, Reno knew, because it meant she could use all her free time spirit-walking, manifesting herself to walk alongside him on the bank of Winter Creek when he went down to wade in the water, away from everyone else. Sometimes, like today, Sebastian joined them, usually in human form. If you didn’t try to touch him, you’d never know he wasn’t there in body.

“You can’t spend your whole life spirit-walking, Nadri,” he told his sister. He didn’t want it to be true, but it was.

“I can _try,_ ” she insisted. “If I can’t change my body then I’ll have to do this instead. I _won’t_ stay unhappy all my life, Reno.”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy all your life, either,” he said. “But you can’t shape-shift if there’s nothing to shape-shift _into._ It’s nothing you can force yourself into, unless you became a werewolf or a moroi or some other sort of undead, and then it’s the Hunt on you.”

“ _Sebastian_ thinks I can.”

“Sebastian _what?_ ” Reno asked, frowning over at where he sat on the creek bank.

“Well, if you’ve got enough power, you can turn someone _else_ into something else,” he said. “Queen Nicnevin turned _Mamcu_ Odile into a swan. So if you like enchanted something to _turn_ you into a thing, and then made it part of yourself, so you could control it, then I think you could get around the no natural second form thing. And it’s not like Nadri would be trying to turn into something she isn’t already- it’s just her shadow soul. You’d just be sort of- shifting it over. Binding it to the body, I guess you could say. You might lose the ability to spirit-walk, but it’s all theory, so I don’t even know if it _would_ work yet.”

“And just how far along is this _‘theory’_?”

Sebastian had the decency to look sort of contrite about it.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out what you’d need to enchant the things you make a part of yourself,” he said.

Reno stomped out of the creek.

“Oh, so you’re just going to enchant something and then _stick it_ in her?” he demanded. “Do you even _know_ anything about how bodies work?”

“I’ve looked things up-”

“You’ve looked them up!” Reno exclaimed. “ _Well._ This sounds like a plan where a lot of things could go wrong but if they go right it’s going to make Nadri happy, so I’m not going to stop you, but you _are_ going to cut me into this, Sebastian. _I’m_ a healer, I know about bodies work and I have actually experience doing it- and I know _Nadri’s_ body best of all, because I’ve been healing her ever since I learned how. Show me what you have.”

* * *

Sebastian had finished working out what needed to be done to enchant the things- body talismans, he was calling them- and Reno had disapprovingly approved the magic of it as _‘not likely to kill her’,_ so now all Nadri had to do, here in the Shining City, was tell Maria what she needed to make.

Her brother and Sebastian had cut Maria in, now, as well, because they needed someone with enough technical skill to construct whatever was going to be constructed, but also enough magic to enchant them while they were being made.

Maria used steel, for preference, and because Sebastian had told her that Nadri’s shadow soul wings looked pretty steely, so using steel would be easier. She was working in the Shining City because it was far away from anyone who could have possibly pried- Kelsie wasn’t going to do anything to stop them, Maria had actually asked them to help.

“Sebastian didn’t say anything about special designs or anything?” Maria asked her.

“No, you just have to do what his instructions say,” Nadri told her. “They can look like anything. _Be_ anything.”

“Hm,” Maria said, and looked the instructions over again. “Well, what sort of thing do you want? Where is it going to _go,_ anyway?”

Nadri knew that Sebastian and Reno hadn’t gotten through this part of their work yet- figuring out exactly what would need to be done to take her shadow soul and redesignate it as a second form for her physical body- but she had- she wasn’t sure if it was inspiration.

It felt kind of like a vision, but it was also something she just _knew._ Reno had told her what he and Sebastian were figuring out and she just _knew,_ an instinct, what she’d have to pay for it and how this was going to work.

“Make me wire,” Nadri told Maria. “Meters of it. And teeth. And claws.”

* * *

Sebastian looked again at the final plan, and then up at Reno, and hoped really strongly that this _wasn’t_ the final plan, that they’d missed something.

“I don’t want to take this to Maria,” he said.

“We _have_ to take this to Maria,” Reno told him.

They took it to Maria.

* * *

Maria knew they’d come to her because she was the only one experienced in the crafting disciplines of magic, learned from years spent in the Research and Development labs, being taught the math and then the some of the engineering and fabrication that went along with it, for building prototypes. She was the one who knew about technomancy, and about how to calculate how much magic you’d need for something, and how it would have to be distributed, and all the different sorts of things that most sorcerers and magic-users didn’t have to bother with, because there was _always_ magic around, and it wasn’t like they’d ever run out of it.

She calculated out what she could- magic from people was different than magic run through machines, measured and used as a power source or applicable energy. You couldn’t _have_ standard numbers for people, but she tried anyway. She made estimates, and came up with about the same answers as Sebastian and Reno had, not doing math.

Then she changed some things, because she knew what Nadri had had her make, and had a sort of idea of what she planned to do with it.

Those came up with better answers, though still not really _good_ ones, and she took them back to her brother and Reno.

“You’re not going to kill her,” she told them, and they were very relieved. “But Reno- just how good _are_ you at healing? Just in case.”

* * *

They’d finished the drafting at the end of the year, and Reno was very ready to take the week they’d given themselves back home before Maria came to pick them up to go get Nadri’s soul changed over.

It had been a busy year, and not just because he and Sebastian had used so much of their free time spell inventing. There had been classes, of course, and he’d made friends with other people, and-

Reno had fallen in love, too. And been fallen in love _with,_ which was even better.

Ravenna Garfagnini Saab was the most wonderful person he had ever met, and that was really distracting, and he’d been torn the whole year between spending time with her and the happiness and the kissing and the walks around town and the _everything,_ all the wonderful things; and spending time with Sebastian to help Nadri.

He’d felt like he couldn’t win. He couldn’t spend time with Ravenna without feeling guilty later that he hadn’t been helping his sister; and he couldn’t work with Sebastian without feeling bad that he hadn’t made time for Ravenna.

But in a week- Nadri would we better, and he wouldn’t have to worry any more.

In the meantime, he was just going to lie here in his bed and refuse to do anything.

“Tirreno,” his _Mitéra_ said, and he jumped a little. He hadn’t heard her come to his door.

“I have heard you have been very distracted lately,” she continued, and Reno could not panic outwardly, what was he going to tell her, _‘I’ve been distracted because I’ve been helping Sebastian construct a ritual to let Nadri rearrange her soul to feel better and yes I know it sounds bad and we’re getting awfully close to the Jagdsprinz’s Pact but we’ve been really careful’_ was not going to go over well.

“Come,” his _Mitéra_ said, and Reno went. He followed her out of the Palazzo to the canal, and down into the water, and from the water to Póli Thálassas, and now he was very very worried because just how much trouble was he _in,_ that they’d gone to Honalee-

They didn’t actually go to Póli Thálassas. She walked off in the opposite direction of the land, out into the deeper water, and then finally stopped, at the top of a short rise and Reno had been told to never _ever_ come here _why were they here_ how had she found out, no one would have told her-

“Love is a powerful thing,” _Mitéra_ said.

“What?” was the only response Reno was able to formulate. He hadn’t thought she would have opened this conversation talking about _why_ he’d done it.

_Mitéra_ looked at him fondly, _indulgently,_ why-

“You think I would not have heard?” she said. “You and Ravenna hid very badly, if you were even trying.”

Okay, he could deal with this.

“Love is a fine thing,” _Mitéra_ continued. “It can an incredible experience, but you must also remember that it can blind you. There are difficulties, should you and she become more serious.”

“We know, _Mitéra._ ”

They’d actually set time aside to talk about it. _He_ was Princess of Póli Thálassas, and she was going to be Governor of Freiezuno, unless she abdicated. He wasn’t about to, and she wasn’t about to, so there was a problem if things got more serious- two problems, really.

She wasn’t going to live as long as him, unless they got married, and _Mitéra_ claimed her under her favor, keeping Ravenna alive with her power, until Reno became Empress and could do it himself.

The bigger, more immediate problem was that Freiezuno was an Independent Power- well, Venice was too, not part of the Imperials or the Republicans, but Freiezuno had to keep a perpetual balance between the two. Her mother marrying her father, a Roman, and from a _Seelenkind_ family besides, had skewed things, in the Republican’s view, away from them. Someone like Reno was exactly what the Governorship didn’t need.

But he and Ravenna wanted to try. They could be more secretive. Reno was used to keeping secrets, after all- he’d been sitting on the Shining City for a while, and then Nadri’s treatment all this year.

“Just as well,” _Mitéra_ said. “But even when you consider yourself well-reasoned, things can be overlooked. You can ignore signs of danger. It is a danger with friends, of course, but worse so with lovers.”

She beckoned him forward, and Reno walked to her side, ready to take a look at the sunken Kêr-Is and let _Mitéra_ make the dramatic part of her point.

 He’d never seen Kêr-Is before. It had been forbidden him and Nadri, and most people just didn’t go near it, out of a lingering sort of fear.

The skyline of Kêr-Is matched that of the Shining City.

* * *

_Elti_ got a certain look when she was working up to give a Parent Speech, and Sebastian was surprised to see it, today. He had no idea what it could be about, but at least because he had noticed it earlier he wasn’t surprised later that day when she came and found both of them.

“You’ve been off to boarding school for a year,” she said. She’d taken them to her personal office in the Jagdshall, the one that was right off her bedroom. Usually, she only had other people in here for a meeting when she was being very official, but things were also personal, or at least needed to seem personal. “And so I thought I’d ask again about your futures.”

This, Sebastian thought, was a pretty odd way to do it.

“A year away from home hasn’t made either of you want to join the Hunt.”

Oh, **_Elti-_**

“I’m going to space,” Maria told _Elti_ firmly, the way she always had. She never expanded on what exactly that meant, but Sebastian knew, and Reno and Nadri did too. She meant she was going to buy a ship and go to the Pict Homeworld, proved it existed where she knew it did, and then go to the Shining City the normal way, to see just how far it was.

It didn’t matter to her if it ended up taking centuries. She was full _Seelenkind,_ and magic-using. She had that sort of time- and with the way she was with space travel technology and technomancy and math, it probably wouldn’t take her even that long. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if she left and then turned up twenty or thirty years later in the known galaxy, beaming and all happy with a plotted route to the end of the universe.

“I actually think I’m going to medical school, _Elti,_ ” Sebastian told her.

He’d never considered it before. The one thing he’d always liked was learning about soul magic and blood magic, and you could make a sort of academic career on that- people had, though it wasn’t common, because most people were not really comfortable with those fields of study and the boundaries of them were hard to pin down- but it wasn’t something he wanted to do as a _job._

But working with Reno over this last year, and applying what he knew about those types of magic to what Reno knew about the body and healing to help Nadri- he thought maybe he could a lot of good, as a doctor with that sort of magic focus.

_Elti_ looked pretty surprised by this, but didn’t comment on it.

“You’re both going to be sixteen in October,” she said instead. “And you were fine at school this year but soon you’re going to be going to university, and while I’d _like_ you to go to Fürsten-Universität, neither of you are really the sort to stay that close to home.”

They were definitely not, and Sebastian felt a little relieved they wouldn’t have to fight her on this.

“And while it seems like you’re not going to be in the Hunt, you are going to need to know how to defend yourselves.”

“What,” Maria said. “At _university?_ ”

“Possibly at university,” _Elti_ said. “Almost definitely later. At least _once_ in your life, you are going to be threatened. You’re both going to live too long to do otherwise- and you’re my children, and Odette’s. We did what we could to keep you away from the problems her family has had-”

“ _Elti,_ ” Sebastian said. “All the _Distawydwr_ are dead.”

“They were all dead once before, too,” she reminded him. “And they came back. Even if there are no more _Distawydwr_ in the rest of time, there’s no reason to think that there won’t be other threats. It might not even be anything organized- just a stranger attacking you on the streets or the wilderness for your money or your supplies, or reasons we can’t even think of right now. I know you’ve already been going to Lord Hiruz to learn how to fight in your shadow form, Sebastian- but don’t make the mistake of thinking that all your dangers are going to be found when you’re spirit-walking.”

_Elti_ had kind of a point there, Sebastian had to allow, even while he and Maria exchanged a glance commiserating about how protective _Elti_ could get about her family.  

_Elti_ reached down behind her desk and came up with two swords.

_“Elti,”_ Maria sighed.

“Don’t look at me like that, this is part of your inheritance.”

Wait a second.

“You,” Sebastian said, surprised. “You went into the Rhineschatz for this?”

“These are my grandfather’s and my great-uncle’s swords,” she told them. “Germania and Old Scandinavia. Ridill and Hrotti. You can go on about how swords aren’t practical in this day and age, but if you’re in Honalee, they are; and it won’t hurt you to know how to use something with reach in close-quarters fighting, either. You’ll be learning more than swords, of course, and no one is expecting you to be as good as a Jäger with them, or at fighting. But you’re going to get good enough to protect yourselves. The universe can be a dangerous place, and there are dangerous things in it.”

Sebastian felt like he and Maria were already pretty well-versed in the danger they could end up in from the universe.

* * *

The others had thought that they’d do this in the Shining City, but Maria absolutely refused to do it there. She knew enough about magic and how reality worked, after being in the Shining City and around the end of the universe for so long, and she knew that for the sort of thing they wanted to do, something to alter the foundation of a thing, they needed some sort of boundary, a twilight-edge, a crack, where the foundation of _everything_ was already changed, or weak, or just simply different.

The Shining City was one of those places, definitely. But the Raksaka Parvata, the mountain range Lanka Kubera sat in, was closer, and somewhere she didn’t mind being tracked to. If something went _really_ wrong, they’d at least be sort-of close to home, instead of at the end of the universe.

_‘Sneaking out’_ wasn’t quite the phrase for what they were doing, but it was what they were doing. It was easier for her and Sebastian to get away with it, because a side-effect of being the children of the Jagdsprinz, Emperor of the _Großjagdsreich,_ and a dead Nation, was that they didn’t quite _belong_ to any of the _Großjagdsreich_ Nations. They sort of a little belonged to all of them, and all the Nations had gotten used to them being only sort of half-there, never quite as claimed as the rest of their citizens.

It was a different sort of twilight-edge. Maria was good at those, now. Reality and the nothingness-chaos had sung it to her.

All Maria had to do was step into Sebastian’s room, take his hand, and then step into Reno’s room in Venice, and take _his_ hand, and then to Nadri’s room. _Nonna_ would be missing her children a lot sooner than Isolde or Michele or Katyusha or the others would be missing her or Sebastian, and they were going to use every moment they had.

From Venice it was straight to the Raksaka Parvata, Maria planting them very carefully on the strongest confluence of boundaries there.

The mountains were an entire boundary unto themselves, of course, mostly because of the steel wall across the blocked pass of Lanka Kubera. This spot, particularly, was the point where the _‘allowed’_ three-mountain-in difference met the line you could draw to divide the part of the Steppes that was controlled by Möngkedai Khan from the part of the Steppes that wasn’t really under the control of any King- the _Rikta,_ in all the languages of Honalee, but more usually used in the High Legends to describe the _‘unclaimed mainland’_ as opposed to Póli Thálassas, Irkalla, Kêr-Is, and Kūnlún, the oldest-ruled portions of Honalee.

Sebastian and Nadri started setting up right away. Maria had been planning on watching, but Reno dragged her off to the side.

“ _Mitéra_ took me to Kêr-Is!” he hissed to her. “And it looked just like the Shining City!”

“So?” she asked.

_“So?”_ he repeated back. “ _So-_ that’s really weird! It’s kind of creepy! There’s no reason why it should look _anything_ like Kêr-Is, but it _does._ ”

“Well, did you go in it?” Maria asked him. “Did you walk the streets? Did it only _look_ like the Shining City, or is it actually laid out the same way with the same buildings and the same details?”

“No,” Reno was forced to admit. “We didn’t go in. But it’s still- there’s _no good **reason**_ for it, Maria; and with it being at the end of the universe and all and- there’s a lot of knowledge to be had from being in that place, Maria, and I’ve seen you. You treat it like it’s nothing. Ahes got a lot of knowledge, too, and I-”

“Don’t you _dare,_ Tirreno,” Maria told him, anger flaring. “Don’t you _dare_ compare me to the Sorcerer-Queen of Kêr-Is. Do you know how many people _already_ compare me to Cassiel Navin, when they think I’m not around? At first it was just the people at HabèTech, but then people started to pay attention to my math and how much I want to go to space and I’m _Seelenkind_ and it’s the same family-”

“I’m _not,_ ” Reno insisted. “I’m just- look, okay, I wasn’t trying to insult you, but- be careful with what you’ve learned, okay? Please? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“If you don’t want people getting hurt,” she told him. “Go watch your sister and make sure you’re ready to give her medical attention if she needs it.”  

* * *

Nadri knew the others were scared, and worried, and were only letting her do this because they thought a lifetime of what she’d already been through would be worse; but _she_ took up the knife willingly. She’d already drawn out what needed to be done on her arms and hands in ink before Maria had come to pick her and Reno up, and that’s what she was going to do first, while she could still pick things up comfortably.

She cut along the lines, following the pattern of feathers from her fingers down her hand and up her arm, over the elbow, to the shoulder, on both arms. Sebastian and Maria were watching her, but Reno was staring into the bowl she was cutting over, to collect the blood.

When as much of one arm as she could reach was done, she handed the knife to Sebastian to cut up around her shoulder and over onto her back, and started laying the wire Maria had drawn in the Shining City into the cuts she’d made, pushing the bright, alcohol-sterilized silver into the wounds until they turned red and slippery.

Up at her shoulder, she had to cede laying-in duty to Sebastian, and got a short break while he put it in, and then while Reno poured some water over her arm and shoulder and healed her enough that the wire would stay in.

Then they did the same for the other arm.

The second portion of the process, Nadri couldn’t do herself. Reno came to sit behind her, and she lay back, her head in his lap.

“I don’t want to,” Reno said quietly. “I don’t _want to,_ Nadri.”

“You have to,” she told him. “You promised.”

He had her take a large mouthful of wine-tinged, cold-steeped tea, which tasted absolutely _foul._ Reno had made it specially, though, and when he placed his fingers lightly on her cheeks her entire mouth went totally numb.

She swallowed, and opened her mouth. Reno moved his hands to cover her eyes, and she wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to do that, but he was trembling and she could feel his tears dripping onto her face, and Sebastian was already pulling her teeth out.

Nadri didn’t feel any of it, because Reno knew what he was doing when it came to healing. She would have just had Sebastian take them out, without preparation- she wanted to _feel_ how her body was being changed, to remember it, now that it was finally going to be what she needed it to be- but she had to stay conscious through this entire process from beginning to end, and she would have passed out from the pain otherwise.

It was really boring, waiting for Sebastian to finish. She could hear the _plink_ of each tooth into the cup he was collecting them in, for use later, and taste the blood on her tongue, but that wasn’t much a distraction.

Finally, he finished extracting her teeth, and inserted the steel set Maria had made her. They were basically just human teeth, but they were a little sharper, and Nadri had made certain that Maria elongated the canine teeth, just enough to be obvious. They were sharper than human teeth, too.

Reno had her sit up and swish her mouth out with water-diluted alcohol. They didn’t need to save that, so she just spit it out onto the ground after he’d healed the gums around her new teeth.

Maria, now that Nadri could see her again, didn’t look very well. Reno hadn’t stopped trembling, and he still seemed teary, but he was doing his best to remain stoic. Sebastian, she knew well enough to know that he really _was_ unaffected by all of this.

It was why she’d picked him to be the assistant, in this.

“Just,” Maria said. “Call me when you need me.”

She disappeared off behind some large rocks, taking Nadri’s teeth with her to grind up so she could use them later, with her shed blood, for the last part of the process.

Reno had her shove her hands into the ice-cold water of the mountain pool they were sitting near, and cut off feeling in her hands now, as well.

Sebastian took her fingernails now, and replaced them with the claws his sister had made her.

Reno didn’t try to stop her from watching this- _he_ wasn’t watching it, he’d turned his back on the operation, not wanting to see but too worried about her safety to actually leave, like Maria had.

“I’m done,” Sebastian told him when the last claw was in place, and Reno dumped some water over her hands and healed her just enough so they wouldn’t fall off.

“Into the water,” he demanded once he’d finished. “Go, _go._ ”

Nadri tipped herself over sideways and fell into the mountain pool. She’d taken a deep breath right before she went in, so she had a minute or so before she’d have to come up.

Everything had to be _really_ healed, added to her body, at the same time that the enchantments in her new metal parts were activated, _and_ her shadow soul connected. There was a margin of error, but Maria had made it sound like it wasn’t very big.

She needed all three of the others, for this.

Sebastian appeared in front of her, spirit-walking manifested in the bodily world, and Nadri dropped out of her body.

It was a very strange experience.

She could feel Reno using the water to heal her body, fuse the steel to her muscle and bone and blood; but she could also feel Sebastian manhandling the different parts of her soul, putting them in place for Maria activating the enchantments.

Until the moment of activation, she hadn’t been totally sure where her consciousness was. But _that_ snapped her back, and she was most _definitely_ in her body, feeling nicely sore in her arms and hands and mouth, like after she’d run with _Papà_ , the ice-cold water rapidly freezing her from the outside in and her lungs burning without oxygen.

She pushed herself up and broke surface just as Sebastian opened his eyes, having gone back to his body. Maria and Reno pulled her out of the pool, and she curled up on the stone edge of it, bent over.

“Holy _shit,_ ” Nadri said, teeth chattering. “Cold cold _cold-_ ”

They’d thought about everything except that, but Maria disappeared for a second and then came back with a blanket. It turned out to be useful for drying her off, but not a lot else.

Reno made them smush her in a group cuddle pile.

“So did that work?” Nadri heard Sebastian ask from inside the press.

“ _My_ part worked,” Maria said.

“No one is testing _anything_ until Nadri’s warmed up,” Reno told them.

“I’m warm,” Nadri told him, though she wasn’t really yet. She was certain it would work, but- she wanted to _do_ it.

“Liar,” her brother told her. “Ten more minutes, and _then_ you can go running around in the mountains.”

Reno counted them out, so she couldn’t try to convince him ten minutes had passed before they actually had, but he did actually let her go at the end of it.

They still had to clean up- the bowl needed washing out, and the cup still had some bone dust in it, and Maria had made a mess on a rock, activating the enchantments and setting them so Nadri could use them at will with Nadri’s blood and the ground-up bits of teeth.

It was magically-potent stuff, and they’d have to burn it, but that could wait for later.

Nadri went to the pool to examine her teeth in her reflection. It was strange, smiling and seeing silver, but her teeth were _sharp-_ she could bite and tear at will-

She sat back and examined her arms and hands. The skin had healed up next to the wire, fusing to it. The wire wasn’t coming off unless someone skinned her. The claws looked like they’d worked, too- she picked up some rocks to experiment, and found that they didn’t interfere with things _too_ badly. Maria had been right about the proportions of them.

She might have been stuck with a human form, but now at least it wasn’t _so_ human. The important things were changed, and it was clear from the outside that she was _something else._

“Ready to try?” Sebastian asked her.

She smiled at him, to show her new teeth; and as he closed his eyes in preparation of spirit-walking, she thought of the Venetian lion.

Nadri _changed._ The wire pulled away from her arms as she went black and furred, bones and muscles changing shape. The outlines of the wire changed too, enlarging and expanding, keeping the edges of the feathers, but filling in with steel. Her hair turned into a real mane, and she got heavier all over.

By the time Sebastian appeared next to his body, as the gold-brown elk buck, Nadri was finished.

Reno walked around to her front, and Nadri stuck her nose in his clothes to smell him for the first time as he buried his hands in her mane.

“You’re pretty,” he told her, and then moved aside.

Nadri ran down the path he’d left open, around turns and corners, Sebastian just behind her. She could smell the scents the wind was bringing, and feel the hint of it, and she was following it- she was going to find it-

The path widened out and Nadri found a drop off, the edge of the mountain range in front of her and the Steppes beyond that.

She jumped.

Steel wings shouldn’t fly, not when they were made like bird’s wings, but this was magic, and so Nadri soared, finding the updrafts, wind ruffling her fur.

Sebastian bounded all around her in the air, not constrained by gravity and the lack of hard surfaces while spirit-walking, jumping over her and dashing under her, generally frolicking, joining in her fun.

This had worked. It had _worked._

Nadri roared, and the sound echoed around the mountains. Sebastian tossed his antlers and bulged back, in answer.

Far below, a horse whinnied.

Nadri tested the air, and smelled- a lot of something. She was new to this, and didn’t know what.

There was a flash of gold at the edge of vision, and she glanced over to see Sebastian streaking down towards the ground, far below. There was a group of people on horses there, and now that she knew where to focus her attention, she could just hear them talking. She recognized _Papà,_ and Sorcerer Héderváry, and the Jagdsprinz, but not the others; though the stag that mock-charged Sebastian, who turned tail and ran back up towards her, could only have been Lord Hiruz.

“We’re going to be in _so_ much trouble,” Sebastian told her, taking a last leap to get to her side. “Come on, I told _Elti_ and _Nonno_ and Lord Hiruz how to get to Reno and Maria. _Elti_ said that we had better be there when she gets there, or she’s going to be even _more_ upset.”

Nadri could live with an upset Jagdsprinz. She let Sebastian lead the way back to their siblings, and tried to imagine how _Papà_ would look to see her as his Lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _'Tis But Our Fantasy_ is done. It's not quite as much a milestone as finishing _With Sorrow_ was for me, but it's still pretty significant, considering this story has an even longer word count than that one. I guess it just felt shorter writing it, since each chapter of this was like it's own little story instead of having a big overarching plot.
> 
> But that's the sort of format we'll be returning to in the third and final story of the _Bad Decisions_ series, _Grace Will Lead Us Home_. I don't when I'm going to start posting that because I'm still working out details and pacing, but here's a promise I _will_ make:
> 
> All of this is going to have a happy ending.


End file.
